


Your Lover Dead

by robyn_bird



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), Schneeweisschen und Rosenrot | Snow-white and Rose-red (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belle Free Zone, During Regina's First Dark Curse, Ensemble Cast, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I have a lot of issues with OUaT and this is how I cope, I should mention I stopped watching after the beginning of season five oh well, Light Angst, Non-Linear Narrative, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV Multiple, Parent-Child Relationship, Snow White and Rose Red fairytale, aggressive use of commas and italics, every character gets a chance to exposition I don't blatantly play favorites, featuring Mr. Gold's first name, my best attempt at turning ouat into game of thrones-lite, please don't make me type them all, switching between present and past like I write for the show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robyn_bird/pseuds/robyn_bird
Summary: Rose Red didn't marry a bear, or the brother of one, but she married a monster all the same. She was plagued by monsters of every kind, they followed her all her life. Better her than Snow White, at least. Rose could deal them, she couldn't deal with them tormenting Snow.Regina would learn that, one way or another.





	1. remember me love, when i am reborn

**Author's Note:**

> When you don't like something you use fanfiction to rewrite it.  
> This is a Belle free zone, I hate how she was handled and especially her relationship with Rumplestiltskin.  
> Feedback is appreciated! I reread this like sixteen times, but it is unbeta'd so here we are.

_Storybrooke, 2001_

“All I’m saying is maybe research a little more into what it takes to be a mother.” Rosalie Blanchard walks around the Mills home with practiced eased. Her home away from home, her husband joked, because Regina requested more of her time than her actual clients did. 

“You think I haven’t thought about this? It’s all I’ve been thinking about for months.”

“And that’s great, but it takes a lot to raise a kid, and you’re a very busy person, Regina,” Regina scoffs, to which Rosalie rolls her eyes, arms crossed and leaning back against the couch she taps her foot as the women stare each other down. Regina was always like this with an idea, she would obsess over it until she’s worked it out in her favor and then assume nothing could go wrong. But adopting a child wasn’t the same a proposing a curfew (of which that had backfired _spectacularly_ and now all the minors in city limits had to be home before eleven), she could write as many proposals and draft as many emails as she wants, children were never the kind of beasts to listen to reason. 

“I’m doing this, Blanchard, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” Rosalie scoffs, throws her hands up, then puts them over her face. 

“I am the literal person who could stop you. You need my approval, Regina. I’m the only CPS agent in this shitty place,” she groans. Regina watches her unblinking, hoping to stare her into submission. Rosalie knows this trick, though. She has stared Regina down more times than she can count. Willing the other to bend with their minds, Rosalie had learnt it from her, and used it in her day to day every now and then. 

(“You look just like Regina when you do that,” her sister says, “I can’t look at you when you’re like this.”) 

And like every time before, Rosalie caves. She groans again, pinches the bridge of her nose, and then stands abruptly. 

“You’re on a short leash, Regina. I’m making home visits every other night and if I hear one, _one_ thing, about you not doing your damnedest for this kid I’m pulling the plug on this little science experiment.” 

There are three practicing lawyers in Storybrooke, and one of them was a last resort. One, is Albert Spencer, a retired DA that was now their very prestigious city’s attorney. Then Nicholas Gold, who only crawled his way onto cases if he was paid in advance, and the client was desperate enough (more often than not they took matters into their own hands). And finally Rosalie Blanchard-Gold, who was focused on child welfare, but often took other cases should the person make the foolish mistake of going to her husband first. 

* * *

 “I just don’t understand where this came from!” Rosalie says loudly from the bathroom into the bedroom, around a toothbrush, and at her reflection. Blonde hair shoved into a bun on the top of her head, she was probably pushing it in the unwashed department, but you weren’t supposed to wash it every day anyway right? She rubs her face as she brushes her teeth with more ferocity than was strictly necessary, studying features that she only paid attention to during these moments.

These moments when she could disassociate in the blink of an eye if she wasn’t careful, when she had to focus on her movements and features to feel real. Rosalie Blanchard-Gold is flesh and blood, but not if she doesn’t think about it. 

Blonde hair, grey eyes, square jaw, small nose. Blood in her veins, and skin that was prone to drying out so she had to use _a lot_ of lotion. _A real flesh person,_ she thinks, _isn’t that just so fucking unfortunate?_

“She came to me a few days ago about it, I thought she was kidding.” Her husband responds from the bedroom, in bed and reading while he waits up for her. Rosalie scowls and turns to lean against the door frame to look at him instead of her reflection. 

“You didn’t tell me?” She says without stopping her toothbrush so comes out more like: “ouu nnt ll me.” 

“Rosie, as much as I love playing charades while I watch toothpaste dribble down your chin. I don’t.” He smirks, and she scoffs, which sprays some lovely spit and toothpaste combination onto the floor. 

“You didn’t tell me?” She asks again, running her tongue over her teeth and shutting off lights while she walks to bed.

“I thought she was kidding,” he repeats, the soft glow from the one bedside light shadowing his face in an almost sinister fashion. Rosalie looks up at him, not having bothered with the pretense of reading and laid right down, absorbed by the lines on his face and the way his eyes almost seemed to glow… 

Nicholas sets his hand on her’s, trying not to startle her, she sighs. She grabs his hand, holding it under the blankets and rolling onto her back. 

“What have we gotten into?”

* * *

 Rosalie had wanted to throw Regina out of the car sixteen times in the last two hours as they traveled to Portland. Unfortunately, Nicholas thrived in chaos, and while he made exceptions for his wife on occasion, he had found a child that Regina could adopt. Normally, they would have wanted a more suitable candidate for the child (surprisingly a single woman who works sixty hours a week was not at the top of their list), but Rosalie had pulled some strings of her own, and between the two of them, had dreamt up a scenario that no one could say no to.

Rosalie couldn’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach as they got closer to the agency. Like a combination of heartburn and butterflies she had felt on her wedding day. Specific, and unwelcome. She had called Mary at one of the rest stops, but that was about as helpful as it usually was. Mary could only ever see the good in things, they were giving a child home is were she got stuck. Never mind who the home belonged to.

Unable to tell if it’s her own worries, that because she knows Regina personally she is blinded by biases, or if this was a gut feeling she should give the time of day to as a professional. She likes Regina, though. The woman was rough, hard to get to know, harder to keep a genial relationship with. Rosalie had worn her down though, and she had to believe that this would be good for her. That she had been insistent enough to put up with Rosalie’s constant needling to do this. 

Archie had said that Regina was of sound mind, Granny said she had smiled the other day for God’s sakes. She had to be making an effort. Rosalie prays that this isn’t just for show, that she doesn’t have to take this kid away. Prays, begs, she does it all in that two minute time span of Regina peeing and leaving her alone in the car. 

“Just, for Christ’s sake, whoever is out there, give this kid a fighting chance. Don’t let this be the end for him. Don’t let this be the end for Regina. I don’t know if she’d ever recover. She needs something good in her life. One good thing, whoever you are, one good thing.” 

* * *

 

_Enchanted Forest, Before_

The dungeons of her sister’s new castle were well used by it’s previous owner. Rose Red is well acquainted with the ruling practices of George, and does not dwell too much on who might have been locked up down here. She is focused on the person who is here now, it does not do to linger in the past. What’s done is done.

So soft are her footsteps that the prisoner does not even know she is there until she is standing in front of the cell. 

Then he jerks, laughs, and pushes himself against the bars. Rumplestiltskin leers at her, soaking in the sight of Queen Rose Red, Protector of the Realm. (Though not really is it? With so many people running around with that title, what did it matter anymore?) She had lead the revolt to formally secede from George’s kingdom, her sister’s now. They would have taken it without so much as a word to her, without offering her home to her.

Rose Red would be dead in the ground before she let anyone take her home from her again. Her sister or otherwise. 

“What did you do?” Rose holds herself tall, as she stares down the man that had put most of the world on edge. 

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, dearie,” Rumple laughs, tilting his head back and forth as he wishes her closer. Four months, one week and two days since he last touched her. 

“You are in my sister’s dungeon, and I have heard from the horses mouth that you have given Regina the means to damn us.” He leans away from the bars, and looks down at her, scowling. Rose shouldn’t have been anywhere near Regina, shouldn’t have left her home with all the work that needed to be done stabilizing the kingdom. 

“You know better than to see her alone.” Rose scoffs sharp enough to hurt her throat.

“I _know_ that she was my stepmother for a time, still is as far as I’m concerned. And I _know_ that you are playing games with my family.” 

"After all she's done to you, Rosie, is she still your family?” He hums, looking at her pointedly. It was an old argument, one that had haunted them, especially since Regina had been put on house arrest in the Summer Palace. Rose would go see her more often than either he or Snow White cared for. But he knew it was because of her misguided loyalty. Rose had been haunted for years, that if perhaps she had done something different with Regina she could have stopped this. 

“What she is to me is not for you, or my sister, to decide. Now tell me what it is you’ve done,” she snaps. “Given an unrepentant woman the means to carry out her revenge, despite the fact that you are now part of the family she hates.” 

“Am I?” He snaps back at her, pacing around the cell. “It has been four months since I’ve seen you, let alone anything else. _Are_ we still married?” He curls his lip, throwing in her face the rumors that have circulated around her since she took up her position as Queen. Her advisor, and heir apparent until she had a child, much too close for the conservative people her father had kept in court (they had almost all found their way back to the kingdom when she returned, an army at her back and the refusal to let Regina ruin her home). 

“Despite my better judgement I do love you. It’s been eleven years, I think we would have noticed by now if that were not the case.” Whether or not she was alone in this was a source of anxiety in her that she was unable to shake in all these years. “I know you want to find Bae-“

“ _Do not!”_ Rumple roars, slamming his hand against the bars, glaring at her. Rose’s heart skips a beat, but she manages, just barely, to keep from flinching. “Just because you know the story doesn’t mean you have any idea-“ 

“You think I don’t know that?” She shouts back, her jaw clenched and hands fisted in her skirt. “I don’t know what you’re going through because you won’t tell me! You are half of me now, we swore it to each other and I will not let you go so easily, but I cannot abide by you trying to drag my stepmother and sister down with you.”

“What does it matter who I drag down with me? What matters is that you and I are safe, together, and able to find Bae. What matters is that I get him back! And I’m not letting even you get in the way of that, _wife,”_ he hisses angrily. Rose has no doubt that if the bars of the cell were not in the way, he would looming over her, crowding her, asserting himself, reminding her who he was and what he could do. “You will be well taken care of, Rosie, I would never let anything happen to you. You have to trust me.”

And that was the crutch wasn’t it? Rose Red loved the Dark One with all she had, more so than her sister and she never thought that would happen. She never imagined loving someone more than Snow White, or that she could. But she had, and he was in a cell, talking with the same manic energy he had whenever they danced around his son. She had dragged the story out of him within the third year of knowing him, it was a terrifying night, she remembers. His screaming at first ( _“Can’t you leave well enough alone you stupid girl!”)_ and then, Gods be good, the _crying._ His mood swings had been violent and often as the story came out in pieces, and she’s certain it wasn’t even all of it. 

Yes, with certainty Rose Red loves Rumplestiltskin with all she has. Eleven years of marriage proved as much. But she couldn’t say if she trusted him. Could she trust the Dark One? He was a man, as any other, he was fallible. More emotional than most, and prone to act on whims. Could she trust him to remember her when all was said and done? 

“I hope one day, I will be able to.” 


	2. “In this new land I want comfort, I want a good life, I want my wife.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dreams say what they mean, but they don't say it in daytime language." - Gail Godwin

_There’s a large overgrown garden, many of the plants are dead, or swallowed by weeds. It would have been beautiful, had it been taken care of. The layout of it is hinted at by some of the plants still, ones that are trying to fight back against the invading weeds and overgrown neighbors. A magnolia tree is at the center of this place, the petals falling like snow. As she walks closer to it, she can hear the sound of a baby crying. Soft, and then gradually louder, as if the child is trying to meet her in the middle. She looks around her, finding the source of the crying from a bush a few feet away. She walks slowly, the lifeless flowers of the bush making a kind of barricade around the bottom of it, to keep the child isolated. Or perhaps to protect it._

_She reaches into the bush regardless, ignoring the cuts from thorns. She sees the child in a basket, with blonde hair, and startlingly clear eyes. Looking at her as if it knows who she is. A newborn, with the umbilical cord still attached. To the child, and the rose bush._

* * *

 Her phone is ringing, the opening cords to Britney Spears jarring Rosalie out of her dream. She gasps involuntarily, her throat dry and coughing as she tries to orient herself. She reaches for her phone with barely a glance at the ID, certain that it would only be her sister calling her at five am for some sort of made up emergency. Unfortunately, it’s not Mary.

“Shut up, shut up, _shut up,”_ Rosalie hisses into the phone, pushing her fingers into her eyes and trying her best to keep from screaming.

“Don’t tell _me_ to shut up Blanchard!” Regina shouts, Rosalie cringing in her half awake state, Nicholas throws his arm over her as he wakes up with her, cursing Regina and all she is. “My _son_ is _missing_! I can be as hysterical as I fucking want to!” Regina’s voice cracks, and part of Rosalie is pleased that she’s taking this seriously. She had been worried beyond reason when Regina played off Henry’s unhappiness at first. Rosalie had felt that sending him to therapy had been a cop out, instead of listening to him she paid someone else to. But a healthy dose of therapy is nothing bad, she and Nick see Archie twice a month. She just doesn’t want Regina to use it as a crutch. 

Rosalie feels sick thinking it, but maybe Henry running away is the reality check Regina needs. The older he gets the more she steps away, and that isn’t something she can just do. 

“Well what the fuck do you want me to do about this Regina?” Rosalie shouts back, tossing the covers off and making a beeline for the hallway, to the living room downstairs so she could at least pretend her shouting isn’t waking up Nick. 

_“Fix it!”_

Regina hangs up, and Rosalie screams at her phone. 

She calls Graham on the way to the Mills house. She doesn’t know what he can do about this, their town as isolated as it is, Henry must have had to walk six miles to a bus stop and Jesus Christ _at night?_ Rosalie feels like throwing up when she gets to the house. She uses her own key to go inside, and Regina screams at her incoherent when she sees her, her phone pressed to her ear. 

It’s two hours of calling everyone she can think of, lawyer friends, people from the adoption agency, even cops that Graham had already called. The agency won’t give her the mother’s name, of course, so Rosalie settles in for a long day of waiting. 

“You swear to God you checked everything? Computer? Friends? Random fucking people on the street?” Graham had already gone around and talked to everyone, called Rosalie a little while ago (he didn’t want to even attempt talking to Regina right now). 

“Yes! I’m not a fucking idiot. He wiped the computer history and he doesn’t _have_ any friends Blanchard, you know that.” 

“Christ, what a fucking mess. Alright, I need a break. Sitting cooped up in here isn’t going to get us anywhere. I’m getting coffee and breakfast, I can’t imagine I have to say it but don’t go anywhere.”

“Just get out.” 

Graham meets her outside on the sidewalk, looking sheepish and leaning against his car. Rosalie runs her hand down her face and looks at him dryly. He shrugs. He’d been texting her every update he got, the big cities around them on the look out for the kid, they could only wait now. Rosalie feels like her own kid ran away, she had helped raise Henry. Every Saturday they have lunch, and he would unload on her all the things bothering him with school, home, or other. She taught him how to ride a bike, helped him with school projects, and went to every assembly. She feels more like a mom than Regina does. 

Not to say Regina doesn’t love him, she very much does. With every fiber of her being, Rosalie can see it. How torn up she looks when she has to miss parent nights, school productions, or reschedule movie night. Rosalie had saved her a few times, being a respected member of the community and a part of the city council she could find some work arounds if she had to. 

She doesn’t like twisting arms, but she would for Henry. 

“Any better?”

“She’ll be like this until we hear something. This isn’t like him.” Rosalie looks at the ground as she speaks, her hands shoved in her jacket pockets, Graham falls in step beside her as they walk into town. 

“He’s a willful kid, gets an idea and come hell or high water. Gets it from Regina, and you,” He teases, hoping to make her smile. In all their years he had never seen Rosalie hopeless, the faraway look in her eyes, her distracted mumbling as he tries to engage her in any sort of conversation. He orders for her at Granny’s, and leaves her outside at one of the picnic tables. Vacant as it is the middle of October. 

Her phone says the call is from Boston, Rosalie’s breath catches, hoping it was the detective they had been speaking with. 

It’s better. 

“Where the _hell_ are you?” Rosalie asks quickly, putting her hand over her eyes, a flood of relief at hearing Henry’s voice, she barely stops herself from just dissolving into tears. “Henry do you know how _worried_ we’ve been.”

“I’m alright,” he says right away, repeats a few more times until he’s certain it sinks in. “I found my mom.” 

“Yeah, so did I kid. She’s at home swearing at every county official she knows.” 

“No. My real mom. She’s in Boston, she was so close this whole time!” He sounds _so happy_ that Rosalie’s face screws up as she places her hand over her face. 

“Henry, baby, I need you to come home,” Rosalie says softly, breathing slowly through her nose to keep from crying. “If you wanted to meet your mom you should have told me. We could have worked it out.”

“I didn’t want mom to know.” He says it so easily, like this is such a normal thing that Rosalie’s heart breaks. If she knew how unhappy he is, if he had told her he wanted to find his birth mother, _Jesus._

“Running away isn’t the way to go about this, Henry, you know that.” 

“I didn’t run away really-“

“You left without telling anyone. You traveled four hours away by yourself to a big city that- Henry. You _left without telling anyone,”_ she stresses. The worry and fear evident in her tone, even the ten year old can tell. He has an uncanny knack for reading people, especially Rosalie. He knows the moment he sees her the kind of mood she’s in, and lately he hadn’t even needed to see her. Case in point. 

“We’re heading home. Emma is bringing me home, we’re leaving in a second. I’m sorry.”

“We can talk about it when you get back. I’m just glad you’re alright. I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you too, Rose.” 

As soon as she hangs up with him she starts to cry, and Graham gives up on waiting for food when he sees that. He helps her stand and leads her to her husband’s shop, her crying never slowing down. 

When the bell to the shop rings and Gold sees his wife crying and being supported by the sheriff, he isn’t entirely surprised. Endeared, most certainly, and steps around the counter, leaning against it to support them both as Rosalie clings to him in a way she has mastered: Without putting undue pressure on his bad leg. Gold wraps his arms around her, letting her cry into his jacket, and looks at Graham for answers. 

“Henry’s safe,” he says, and that’s really all that needs to be said. Relief was almost as strong an emotion as sorrow, when it came to crying. And Rosalie embraced her emotions, she never held anything back. It had caused some problems, but never ones they couldn’t fix.

“He found his birth mom,” Rosalie says as she sniffs and wipes at her face, her tears slowing down marginally, “she’s bringing him home.”

“How very fortunate she did not feel the need to kidnap him further,” Gold teases. His lighthearted approach to whenever she cries something that seems crass, but helps to keep her from spiraling further into a hole she can’t find her way out of. 

“I’m going to have to like Emma, and I don’t want to!” Rosalie says petulantly. 

Gold stiffens, his grip on her tightening as he looks far off. He’s focused on a spot on the wall across from him, Graham looks over his shoulder then with concern at Gold, who shakes his head and seems fine. 

“Sheriff, perhaps you would like to go give the good news to the Mayor. Rosie is going to be indisposed for a little while, I think.” His grip on her is still tight, but comforting. She waits until she hears the bell to the door then looks up at him. He’s looking at the door as if someone else is going to walk through it. 

“Nick?” She whispers, and he clenches his jaw. Rosalie ( _Rose Red, Rose Red, Rose Red)_ pushes away so she can see him, she sets her hand on his cheek gently, hoping to draw him out of this trance. 

Twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years and she has been with him this entire time. Why?Surely Regina wouldn’t have hesitated to take away his happiness. Unless she loves Rose like she always claimed. Unless she hates him enough to wait. Give him something good for awhile and then rip it away. Wait for when he inevitably makes a mistake and drives a wedge between them like he’s been known to do. 

This was it. This was what she wanted. To watch them destroy each other slowly, and completely. It would eat him alive, knowing that they were doomed to fail and he would lose the one good thing in his life. 

“Nicholas!” Rosalie snaps, grabbing his face and moving it forcefully. “Baby, what’s wrong?” She demands, looking him in the eye, all her concern for Henry turned on him now. 

Rosalie Blanchard-Gold. He can feel the metal of her wedding ring against his cheek, and a surge of affection and desire takes him by surprise. He’s always desired Rose, that was never a concern. But did he love her? He wanted her. To posses and covet, of course. But as an equal? Could he have an equal? (One could argue that if he was to have one the girl who was never meant to have a kingdom but displaced Regina and led the largest revolt in living memory would most definitely be it.) 

“I love you,” he says before he can think more about it. Before he can stop himself, he shoots himself in the foot. But she laughs, looks relieved, and kisses him. 

He melts. Because whether they were destined to destroy each other or not, she was the best thing he has and he wasn’t going to squander it. 

“I love you too,” Rosalie whispers.

But then the next question is, of course: What about Rose Red?

* * *

 " _Do you love me?” Rose Red asks Rumplestiltskin, laid out in the grass under a tree by the mouth of the river his manor sat on. He stands over her, looking down at her, unamused by her childish tendency to wander. Not that she went far, she always seemed to end up back under this tree._

_“What on_ earth _gave you that idea?” He scoffs, and she smiles as she looks up into his face. She always managed to look him in the eye, almost one year of living here with him, she had never so much as flinched in his presence._

_He had been reckless in giving into her, allowing her to live with him. She was a nice breath of air in his stagnant lifestyle of waiting for Regina to catch up to him. He had little to occupy his time with aside from the usual chaos of making sure certain players were in the right place at the right time._

_Increasingly, he’s found that Rose’s right place is beside him. He isn’t exactly fond of this train of thought._

_Rose smiles as she looks at him, singing softly a song she remembers her nanny’s would about lovers separated by time and class. Her voice carries in the wind, her longings and desires carried with it._


	3. hell is a talking type

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know my sister like I know my own mind."

Rosalie is leaning against the door into Mary’s classroom. Not an unusual occurrence, her class is well acquainted with Miss Blanchard’s sister. They spent a lot of time together, with Rosalie and Nicholas having a hand in nearly all the going ons in the town, they were often her first choice in speaking to the class about local government and small businesses. She tried to keep Rosalie from speaking about her law practice to ten year olds, however. 

“What a treat, we haven't seen each other in nearly ten hours,” Mary teases. The class in varying states of dismissal, a few lingering as they're known to and other’s making a beeline for the door. 

“Our codependency is nearly the talk of the town. Just after Emma Swan,” Rosalie says pointedly, helping to clean up the remains of an art project. 

“Emma?” Mary asks, counting down mentally until Rosalie stops helping and starts painting her own bird house. She did nearly all the art projects the kids did, one way or another.

“Henry's birth mother,” Rosalie says with distaste, “found her way here with him yesterday.” 

“That's right.” Mary remembers the panicked crying that Rosalie had woken her up with yesterday, hiding in Regina’s backyard to take a moment to call her sister and calm down. It had still been the early stages of the search. “Are you worried?”

“About Emma? No, legally she has no standing. About Henry getting attached? Incredibly.” Mary nods, looking at Rosalie sitting at one of the tables, Mary’s birdhouse in her hand and improving upon it with swashes of red and purple. 

Rosalie is the dearest person in her life, her anchor through the quick succession of their parent’s death as children. It was incredibly unfair of her to ask that of her little sister, who had no better handle on things than she had. Who, at sixteen, was more of a mother than Mary had been. Though she had adopted her immediately to keep them together, two years was not so big of an age difference, and she wondered if she had made the right choice many times. Or if she had been selfish in keeping her sister with her. 

Mary sits next to her at the table, she grabs Rosalie’s hands and sets the paintbrush aside, looking at her with a more motherly look that she had perfected over the years and honed with her teaching style. 

“Henry has weathered worse storms, he is going through a hard time but he has you to guide him through it. I don’t like Regina, but I know she loves him, and I know between the two of you he is going to be alright. No matter what happens with Emma.” 

Rosalie smiles at her gratefully, her shoulder’s relaxing she hadn’t even realized she was tense. She’s looking at her hands, the paint on them making her feel childish and impulsive, so she acts childish and impulsive. 

“Rosalie Rowan Blanchard-Gold!” Mary shouts all her names at her, wiping the paint from her mouth and smearing it on her face. Rosalie laughs, standing up quickly and leaving before Mary can get back at her. She knows she’ll hear about it later tonight. 

* * *

“Snow White! How could you!" Rose Red shouts as she runs down the halls of their wing. Their bedrooms right next to each other all their lives, they had practically commandeered the entire wing as they grew. Rooms to study in, practice music, painting, sewing, all the princess things they were expected to know. 

“Rose Red! Rose Red! Can’t grow hair upon her head!” Snow sings as she runs from her sister, shrieking in laughter as she barely keeps from running into maids. 

Eva misses Snow, walking out of a door just in time to catch Rose around the middle and stop her mad dash. Rose shouts, and squirms in an attempt to be set down so she can continue running. 

“What,” Eva laughs a little, lifting Rose off the ground, “ _What_ are you two shrieking about?” 

“She ruins _everything_!” Rose shouts, still looking determined down the hallway. Eva clicks her tongue and sets Rose into the room she was walking out of, kneeling down with a tight hold on Rose’s arms. She looks at Rose and sees what might have caused this distress. 

Instead of the two braids she sleeps in every night Rose is only sporting one and this does not look to be done on purpose. Eva lifts her hand to feels the ends of the badly chopped braid, and sighs sadly.

“I see, your sister decided to try her hand at hairdressing. Hush, little one,” she says with authority when Rose still fidgets and looks at the door pointedly, “we’ll get this straightened out and I’ll have some words with Snow.” Eva stands back up and sits in a chair, undoing the braid that was still intact and taking stock of the mess. 

“I hate her. I hate her,” Rose says vehemently. Eva stills, then grips Rose’s chin so that she has to look her in the eye. 

“Dearest, I don’t want to hear you say that again. What Snow did was uncalled for, and will be punished, but you should never hate her.” 

“Why not!” Rose demands. “She's always doing whatever she wants and never gets in trouble for it! She can miss lessons and cut my hair and let the dogs out but I can’t say anything?” 

“Saying you hate her is very different than if you were just tattling, little one.” Eva sighs, she knows she and Leopold were guilty of being lenient with Snow, it was unfair that they did not afford Rose the same. The girls were held to different standards, it wasn’t right, but it was difficult to enforce when she had only given birth to one of them. “ _Has_ she done something else?”

“She threw all my shoes into the pond.” Eva can't stop the laugh, but clamps her hand down over her mouth quickly. It was absurd, why would Snow even think of that? “See!” Rose turns around and looks absolutely devastated at her mother. “She _always_ does this!” 

“I’m sorry, Rose, I promise to talk with her. Now let’s get this under control, and I’ll make Snow cut her hair as well.”

* * *

Regina had called her about Henry missing again, and while Rosalie is certain he didn't run as far as Boston this time it was expected she would panic if he disappeared for more than a second. This time she starts where she should have last time. 

Rosalie always thought the castle on the beach was a death trap, the old wooden structure long been abandoned by everyone but Henry. He had taken a shine to it a few years ago, and no amount of persuasion could get him to give it up. 

When she gets closer she can see he has company, the blonde woman she assumes is Emma Swan. She’s pretty, and can see the bits where Henry takes after her. But there’s something unwaveringly familiar about her as well that puts Rosalie on edge. 

“Henry,” Rosalie says, and Henry smiles, but doesn’t make to move toward her, “we talked about this.” 

“I don’t want to go home,” he says immediately and petulantly. Rosalie frowns at him, instead turning her attention to his guest. 

“Emma Swan, I imagine,” she says politely, but coldly, “thank you for bringing Henry home yesterday.” 

“Yeah- Yeah, of course, no problem,” Emma says quickly, startled out of her reverie. She had been surprised when Rosalie approached, the young woman with blonde hair and wearing jeans with holes in them. She looks almost exactly like herself. Emma’s hair, Emma’s build, Emma’s jawline. Emma has a sick nauseous feeling the more she stares at this woman. “Who, uh, who are you?” 

“Sorry, Rosalie Blanchard-Gold, Henry’s caseworker.” She walks forward and extends her hand, but Emma isn’t so sure her own hand wouldn’t pass right through if they touched. 

Rosalie turns out to be a real solid person and that’s both parts reassuring and unsettling. Wasn’t there that one thing about how six people in the world look like you though? Was that credible? Maybe not, and how uncanny would it be if one of them was here? And Henry’s caseworker? That was fancy legal talk for mom, Emma knows that much. Her’s had tried to mom her enough times.

“Ready to go home, kiddo?” Rosalie asks him, a little weirded out by Emma, but not about to mention it in front of Henry. 

“Please don’t make me,” Henry begs, and Rosalie sighs.

“You know you have too. Regina is worried sick-“  
“No she isn’t! Stop trying to defend her! She hates me!” 

“Whoa!” Rosalie shouts back, definitely not wanting to do this in front of Emma. Emma, who she’s worried will look for any weak link in their armor and exploit it. Emma, who she’s worried is going to put stock into Henry’s impulsivity without knowing everything. “Henry.” Rosalie kneels down in front of him. “I am not certain of many things in life, but I am _absolutely_ certain that your mom loves you. She’s going to be unbearable because you _scared us,_ Hen.” 

Emma tries to make a quick escape, but Rosalie asks her to walk them home. Something that placates Henry, and gives Rosalie a chance to study Emma more, who gives her a wide berth and pointedly does not look at her. Rosalie stops them from walking up to the door with Henry, who hugs them both goodnight and Emma doesn’t look like she knows what to do with her arms. 

Regina looks at them, but doesn’t invite them closer. 

“Are you set up with a place to stay?” Rosalie asks, her hands in her pockets and posture relaxed, though she is definitely not. 

“I don’t know if I am,” Emma says slowly, wondering if this a trap.

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve had a shit forty-eight hours and no patience. I know how Regina comes across, and I know how you barely stopped yourself from running after Henry right now.” 

“I didn’t-I wasn’t going to _run,”_ Emma mutters, Rosalie rolls her eyes. 

“Granny’s is the only place we have for you to stay. I’m sure she’ll be tickled by the business.” 

“Tickled?” Emma mutters, following Rosalie down the street. She wasn’t as sick about them looking alike, and was starting to get used to it. They walk in silence for a few blocks, Emma in her own head as she tries to gauge whether she could take Rosalie in a fight if she was, in fact, being lead somewhere to be killed. Small towns freaked her out, outsiders weren’t tolerated, and everyone knew everyone. If someone decided to murder her here it would definitely become a cold case. 

“I don’t want you here,” Rosalie says and they are not off to a good start. “It makes more work for me because now I have to keep tabs on you and I don’t want to spend my days watching my doppelgänger try to navigate small town politics,” okay so she did notice that they look alike then, nice of her to say something _sooner-_ “and Regina is calling me practically every hour trying to get me to do something about you like I have the power to drive you from town. 

“I don’t want you here,” Rosalie stops and looks at Emma, “because it causes a problem for _me_. I’m not going to do anything about it though, because Henry deserves to know you. Because he wants to know you. Because he’s unhappy and I don’t believe this is going to help him, but he does, and I’m willing to see it out because of that. 

“If you hurt him, Emma-“

“Alright! Okay! Look!” Emma cuts her off, holding a hand up and scowling. “I’m not going to do shit! The adoption was closed, I’m worried about him, yeah, because he is very clearly stating that he doesn’t want to be in that house. Why aren’t _you_ doing something about that?”

Rosalie purses her mouth tightly, stares Emma down and then turns on her heel and walks up the walkway they had stopped in front of. Emma throws her hands up and scoffs, nothing about this was going to be easy, or quick. One week, she had promised Henry one week. 

“Look, I know you’re doing your best. I just, this isn’t what I expected and I’m not- I didn’t _plan_ on any of this-“

“Emma, I can appreciate worrying for your child, you gave birth to him. You want what’s best for him, that’s why you gave him up. I know that Regina is rough around the edges, believe me, but she loves Henry with all she has. He is loved, and well taken care of, I can promise you that.”Rosalie stares her down on the porch, waiting for a confirmation that Emma heard her and isn’t just humoring her. 

“Can we make a truce then? I promise not to actively make your job harder and you promise not to drive me from town?” Rosalie looks at her suspiciously, Emma mirroring it, both women hesitant about the other. But there was no animosity like from Regina. Rosalie very clearly was thinking only of Henry, had stated her feelings bluntly so Emma knew where she stood. She could appreciate that at least. 

“Alright. It’s a deal.” 

Emma watches as things in the home stop when Rosalie walks inside. The older woman who had been arguing with the young girl stop arguing almost immediately when they see her, and Emma narrows her eyes as she wonders just what kind of person Rosalie actually is. 

“Granny, we’re setting Emma up with a room,” Rosalie says kindly, smiling softly at them, they don’t seem too eager to return it. But the words sink in and they jump on it, smiling for Emma’s sake and looking much happier and welcoming (at least the older woman is — _Granny?_ That can’t be right).

“W-A room? Certainly! Square view or forest view? I prefer the square view- and you said we, Mrs. Gold?” 

“Yes, take it out of your rent.” 

“This discount does not reflect last months rent, however.” 

Emma nearly jumps out of her skin, not having heard the door open. There’s a man standing behind Rosalie, in an obviously tailored suit, and using a cane. He doesn’t look old enough for one, though older than them. And Rosalie is smiling at him, then kisses him, and Emma scrunches her face up for a moment, trying to erase the unsettling picture of her almost-self kissing a stranger. 

“It’s all there,” Granny says tightly, handing over cash Emma is surprised to see. 

“I don’t doubt it.” The man smiles genially, influenced perhaps by the tight grip Rosalie has on his arm. “Emma Swan, I imagine?” He asks, looking her over in not a condescending way but one that made her squirm the same.

“Emma, this is my husband, Nicholas Gold.” Nicholas extends his hand, and Emma shakes it with almost the same, if not more, trepidation that she had with his wife. 

“Please, just Gold is fine.” 

The unsettling feeling of something being not-quite-right never dissipates, even as Emma settles into the idea of staying here for a week. There’s no reason for it, no obvious conclusion other than her animosity with the Mayor. But the sense of dread that accompanies the idea of leaving Henry here alone, of abandoning him all over again, Emma gives it the time of day. She knows herself, knows her gut feelings are usually right, and her gut was telling her that something sinister was lurking in this town. Something dark, something a Hollywood exec would eat up and adapt into an HBO Special and dammit all if she didn’t do everything she could to keep her son from being played by that kid from Stranger Things. 


	4. you will never be satisfied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the night is dark, and full of terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Gilbert Whitehand is one of the Merry Men and I'm not just making you suffer through more OC's

_Enchanted Forest, Before_

Gilbert Whitehand had few regrets in his life. He had dedicated his life to the betterment of the common folk, and it wasn’t always clean, or honest, work, but it helped him sleep at night. The Merry Men had been traveling from kingdom to kingdom, trying to keep one step ahead of Nottingham as he traveled too far out of his jurisdiction to find them. Sheriff was more of a pipe dream that he kept ahold of out of stubbornness and pride these days. 

They had been causing an upset in this kingdom now, but made sure not to wear any identifying marks. In any color other than green, Robin was practically unrecognizable (unfortunately traveling with a friar was a rather big tip off, but one that they had learned to work around) and so long as he stopped announcing himself after showing up an opponent they could get away with at least a few months in one place. 

They never really know which kingdom they’re in, they just go until they find someplace new. And royals are always so different about their ruling styles, that you can never know how safe it will be for you in their kingdoms. Some of them never leave their castles, terrified of the people they rule over. Others you cannot tell the difference between them and the common folk, they mix and mingle well enough that by the time you do realize they’re a monarch you’ve given them your whole life’s story and sworn to their cause ( _that_ was a problem they’ve faced more than once). 

You can tell immediately that the girl’s are princesses, but they aren’t holed away in their castle surrounded by pretty things that will never hurt them. The older one with pitch black hair is dancing in the square with the rest of the revelers, laughing with her whole body and being taught the dances they would never dance in a formal ballroom. The younger one with sunshine hair is standing back in a conversation with one of her guards and a man who looks to have lived in a smithy his whole life, the soot caked into his skin and clothes. Gilbert watches them, intrigued by the contrast of the girls, surprised to see them out without their parents. How easy it would be to just carry them off, or pick them off from a distance. 

Seems he’s not the only one that thinks this either. The black haired one starts a fuss of some kind, and the guards leave Sunshine alone. 

Gilbert moves quickly, grabs the man that is touching the princess and punches him twice in the face without preamble. The princess draws in a sharp breath, but doesn’t scream, she looks down at the bloody face of the man and then up at the one who had hit him and between the twoa few more times as her mind catches up. 

“My God,” she says finally, and Gilbert laughs. He looks her over to make sure she’s unhurt and then glares at where the two are occupied with the other one. 

It’s rather informal. Gilbert leaves the Merry Men and takes up post as Rose’s personal guard at her request (and his want, she did not twist arms this one, and he is endeared to her). Her sister drew so much attention and love from other people, Rose needed someone she could trust to keep an eye on her. A great believer of fate, and destiny, Rose is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and she is greatly pleased that Gilbert is of the same mind. 

He loves her immediately. Loved her the moment she had made him laugh, and is very serious in his duty to protect her. In the following years he is endeared to her further. Her smiles, though rare, were a sight to behold and he would be a contented man if he could see them for the rest of his life. She is fierce and passionate, and loves her people, loves them to the point of altruism. He has to protect her, nurture her, no one else was going too. 

As time wore on, and Rose had noticed Regina becoming more unhinged, more antagonistic and confrontational, she had requested Gilbert take up post in her room. A makeshift bed made of the chair in her sitting area, it is a pattern that Rose is not eager to break. 

For good reason, he comes to learn. 

The sound of moving bodies alerts him, no one should be moving this late in this part of the castle. Rose is sitting up in bed, staring at the door with a more frightened look than he’s ever seen. His heart hurts looking at her, and his resolve hardens. He stands, sword in hand, and walks toward her, a gentle hand on the back of her head. She grabs his arm, and assures herself that she is safe. 

Regina tosses the door open, and in the same motion Gilbert is tossed aside, into the table by her fireplace. Rose bolts up, throwing herself from her bed, but is stopped halfway there. 

“We’ve family matters to discuss, Whitehand,” Regina sneers. Gilbert does not get up and Rose shouts, almost crying. 

“What did you do? Stop it!” Rose shouts at her stepmother, her worry and fear giving way to more irrational, childish urges to scream and throw a fit until everything went back to normal. 

“Oh, Rose,” Regina sighs as she walks to her, cupping her cheeks and smiling, “dear girl, it’s nothing serious. All this nastiness is only temporary. I only have a few things to take care. And then we’ll be the better for it.” 

“The better for murdering my father and attempting the same with my sister?” Rose spits, glaring at her. Regina looks surprised, and then sad, smiling patiently at Rose. She releases her from the spell as an act of good faith, holding her hand up when Rose jerks backwards quickly. 

“My dear, don’t you see? They are the people holding us back. Without them we can flourish. We can be so much more than a wife and a daughter. We can rule this kingdom, together. And we can bring about a better age than your father ever dreamed. Did you think Snow White could lead these people? Yes, they would be happy, but they wouldn’t know any better. There wouldn’t be any _progress.”_

Regina knows her daughter. She knows Rose Red better than anyone might think. For meeting the girl when she was already ten, she could pick up on her moods, her interests, better than her own father. 

Rose strove for progress. She could not stand the stagnant complacency their kingdom had fallen into as their father aged, as he refused to hand over power to Snow, or even someone interim. She loved her father, dear God did she love her father, but he was rooted in the past. They wouldn’t have been able to keep up with anyone else. God forbid if they went to war, they’d be outclassed in every way. 

But no one listens to the second daughter, no one wants to hear concerns from a child who’s days were full of sunshine and smiles. Because she had not known strife, she had not earned it. 

Well now she has known strife. 

“There will not be _peace_ with you, Regina. You will always want for something,” Rose says tightly, and then steps back further. 

Regina whirls around, moving just enough the sword doesn’t swing down on her neck, but cuts her arm. A deep gash, that Rose is surprised by. She had never seen one in person, and wonders if her stepmother might lose her arm. She hopes not. 

Regina screams, guards coming into the room, Gilbert cuts them down before they have a chance to respond, grabs Roses’s arm and yanks her out of the room. He had planned on this, prepared for this. When Rose had panicked, so had he. They race through the palace, Rose’s heart trying to beat out of her chest. What about Snow? She looks behind her, the door to her sister’s room open, and she knows. Prays that she made it out safe, or at least away from here. Prays that she isn’t alone. That they’ll see each other again. 

He takes her to the stables, shoves a bag in her hands, and practically throws her onto the horse. Rose tosses on the cloak, looking over her shoulder nervously every few seconds. Gilbert mounts a horse as well and they’re out of there like a shot, not stopping for anything, some of the guards shouting at them and attempting to catch up. Gilbert knows what he’s doing though, and the entrance to the stables was barred from the inside by a handsomely paid stablehand. By the time they get to the horses they’ll be deep in the woods. 

They ride hard for a handful of minutes, Rose’s heart never ceasing the pounding in her ears just as the screaming in her head never tapers off. She is solely focused on staying upright on this horse, if she thinks about what’s just happened she’ll become hysterical and they have no time for that right now. 

They finally stop, off the road and in a thicket of trees to hide them. Gilbert takes the bag and pulls out a pair of plain clothes for both of them, thick boots for her that are uncomfortable and not something she’s used to. Nor the wool of the dress or stiff fabric of the cape. Rose imagines this is what she’ll have to get used to, how pampered she was seems absurd in the grand scheme of things now. 

“I want you to ride to the east of here. Don’t stop, don’t look back. There are people there that will take care of you-“ Gilbert starts to say as he makes a small fire to burn the fabric that they’d been wearing, not wanting to take any chances of leaving a trail, the dense canopy of trees keeps the smoke from rising much further than a few feet above them and blocks the light of the fire. 

“You’re coming with me.” Rose stops him, looking heartbroken and scared. Gilbert looks at her sadly, he grasps her hand and kisses it. Holding her gaze and hoping his confidence in her translates. She is strong, stronger than she has any right to be, he is certain she can weather this storm. With the help of the Merry Men, he is doubly sure. 

“I will see you again, Rose Red, I swear it. I’m going to lead them to the west, give you a head start. Keep going, no matter what, keep going.”

“No. _No._ Gilbert you have to come with me. _Please.”_ Rose begs, gripping his arm tightly. She’s crying now, and in all his years by her side he’s never seen her cry. He hugs her tightly, holding her as she clings to him and prays for bygone days. 

“Rose Red, you are stronger than you know. We will meet again, in this life or the next.” 

* * *

_Storybrooke, Now_

“How are you Mr. White?” Rosalie asks as she sits across from the man at the table, two cups of coffee in her hand, and the paper splayed out on the table. The bustle of the early morning diner atmosphere is almost comforting. The older man puts the paper down and looks at Rosalie over the tops of his glasses, smiling at her when she passes a cup to him. He cheers her before drinking it black. She grimaces and he laughs. 

“Ah, it’s going to rain soon. My leg was stiff when I woke up this morning.”

“Or it could be because you woke up in Maine,” Rosalie laughs. 

The gruff old dock worker and her had met for coffee once a week for years now. She had helped him during his divorce years ago, and they just never stopped meeting. Every Thursday morning, on her way to work for a few minutes in the morning, she could step back. Step out of Rosalie’s life and into the make-believe of being the daughter of Arthur White, working on a boat with fish instead of in an office with children. She had always felt a yearning for that, something simple, with a father she loved, and nothing more. That was all she needed. 

Oh, she had _wished_ for the kind of life where she could be content with that. But she was not the type to be satisfied with simple things, however much she admired the people that are. She was too much for that, and it was wildly unfortunate. 


	5. to my unknown lover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is coffee and things restored

“Did you tell _Whale_ you wanted True Love?” Rosalie laughs into the phone, easily imagining the picture of Mary post date. Pajama’s and socks, wrapped in a blanket on her bed, eating cereal (because she never ate enough on dates and Rosalie had been trying to break that habit for years), and watching a rom-com that she had seen a thousand times before. 

She can hear _Something Borrowed_ on in the background.

“Oh, I just started rambling! He wouldn’t stop _staring_ at Ruby, I was hoping to shock him out of it.”

“And did it?” Rosalie asks, laying across her couch as Nicholas putters around the kitchen making dinner. He enjoyed cooking and she was objectively terrible at it (he loves telling the story of how he surprised her at her home one day while they were still dating, he walked in on her eating a full cheesecake and crying about MasterChef Junior). 

“No! He’s terrible! I wish this town had another doctor, I still have to see him at the hospital.”

“I told you not to date your boss,” Rosalie sings, smirking at Nicholas’ soft laughter. 

“What’s done is done, I didn’t even tell you the best part.” Mary waves her spoon around, and Rosalie perks up slightly. “I ran into Emma Swan, she’s living her car.”

Rosalie groans, sinks down the couch and runs a hand down her face. She was torn up about the Emma thing. She didn’t want her here because she selfishly wanted to covet Henry for herself, and they had a system in place that allowed her to do that. But she also wanted what was best for him, and knowing his brith mother might not be a bad thing. 

She also _loved_ the grief it was causing Regina. She didn’t hate the woman, but she enjoyed a good bit of schadenfreude as much as the next person. 

“So what do you want me to do about it, Mary?” 

“I just thought you’d like to know.” 

She knows what Mary’s going to do. She knows Mary is already planning on it, because she knows Mary. Mary wouldn’t be able to sleep if she thought someone needed help, this would haunt her until she knew Emma was safe and housed. Not that they could do much, there were no vacancies in Storybrooke, because no one ever left the fucking place. Sure they talked about it, but that’s what small towns did, everyone _talked_ about it. But leaving? Where would they go? Most of the people here, their whole lives were rooted in Storybrooke. Generations of families, businesses they relied on to live. 

That’s just what small towns _do._ They house you and nurture you, and they suck you dry. Make you complacent, _reliant,_ until you could never thrive anywhere else. 

And when an interloper comes in, they close ranks. The town itself doesn’t want outsiders, doesn’t want to entice anyone into leaving it because if people leave, what would become of the town? There is no life outside Storybrooke, the miles and miles of forest proved it. It keeps people out, and it keeps its people in. 

It was proving, however, that it made exceptions for Emma Swan, and just like serendipity, it makes room for Emma Swan. 

Rosalie thinks she’s going to have to make room for Emma Swan as well. 

“Hot chocolate? You pegged me more of a black coffee kind of person,” Rosalie says as she sits at the table with Emma, uninvited and presumptuous. Rosalie has that kind of air, Emma thinks, where she could be accepted into anything because she makes room for herself. The people here like her because she likes herself, or pretends to at least. 

“I’m trying to cut back actually,” Emma says a little hesitantly. She eyes Rosalie’s drink of…milk? “Why is your milk that color.”

“Because it’s just a cup of creamer with a little coffee in it,” Rosalie laughs. She drinks it pointedly, and Emma makes a face. “How’s Henry?” 

“Good, he’s popping up around every corner it seems like.” Emma smiles as she thinks about it, and Rosalie is surprised by how quickly Emma has warmed to this, especially since she gave him up. She doesn’t say this of course, she has some tact. “You haven’t spoken to him?”

“Oh no, we talk all the time, but I wanted to hear it from you. He likes you a lot,” she says offhandedly, Emma narrows her eyes. She grimaces, and tries to find the hidden meaning but Rosalie doesn’t bat an eye. “He takes a lot of stock in what you think, Emma, but I’m sure you know.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah. I know,” Emma says awkwardly, not looking at Rosalie. Rosalie looks at her with narrowed eyes, and contemplation as she drinks her coffee and plans her next move. 

“So has he told you about his theory yet?” She asks casually, skimming the articles in the paper she could make out upside down. The Mayor’s smear campaign had taken a backseat to actual news, she’s pleased to see. Emma pauses, weighing the pros and cons in her head, remembering the last time she had talked with someone else about this and how that had blown up in her face. Rosalie seems genuinely invested in Henry’s happiness though, and Emma looks around her to make sure he isn’t in danger of popping up behind her again just in case. 

“Yeah, the fairytales? It’s all he wants to talk about. He’s really invested in it.” Emma sighs, a little tired, a little amused. It was wearing on her though, the constant needling from him be something she wasn’t. Why was no one ever satisfied with Just Emma? Even her own kid wanted her to be someone else. 

“Who does he think you are?” Rosalie smiles as she asks, a little mean, she can see the humor in it. She thinks Henry has a wild imagination, and had actually looked into her character when he told her. She can see some of the similarities, the devotion to her sister and impulsive approach to things. She really did have to work on that if Henry picked up on it as well. 

“Ah, I’m not really in it. The daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming.” Emma shrugs lamely, feeling silly for admitting it. Rosalie laughs, and Emma feels her face heat up.

“I hope not! He thinks I’m Snow White’s sister: Rose Red. I can’t be your aunt, we’re the same age!” Emma wracks her brain for any knowledge of Rose Red, but she’s pretty sure she wasn’t in the Disney movie and that’s where she stops. 

“What the hell is a Rose Red?” Emma asks, looking over the fact that they are the same age for the time. 

It starts with a small, sharp, pain in the back of Rosalie’s head. A buzzing that she can’t shake, and it quickly blooms into something worse. She cringes, but keeps it to herself, and rubs her eyes, as she tries to work through the pain. 

And then her whole body feels that same buzzing, like an electric current, or too much caffeine. Her mind blanks, she forgets where she is or who she is, and then. Just as quickly as it started, it ends. She is Rosalie Blanchard-Gold in Granny’s Diner talking to Emma Swan in Storybrooke, Maine, but that’s not all.

_“How dare you come in here with this holier-than-thou attitude when you know everything I did was for us!” Regina shouts, glaring fiercely at Rose, who won’t step more than a few feet inside the palace. “I wanted you with me! I wanted you and I to start over and be a family! Is that so wrong?” Regina scoffs, her heart breaking for the thousandth time over this girl. This girl who has so much riding on her, so much pressure to be perfect and kind and_ just like _her sister._

_“You cannot force your ideals on other people, Regina,” Rose says calmly, “and I regret what we have to give up. But this was never the way to go about it.”_

_“Maybe one day you’ll see things differently.”_

Rosalie excuses herself quickly, making some excuse or another, she isn’t really sure what she says she just knows she has to leave. She has to…has to… Has to what? What was the point? Who knew? Who would believe her? That Henry was right, that Henry knows more than he should, or has any right to. She’d be called crazy, they’d never take her seriously. What could she do?

_Your husband is the Dark One, and you’re wondering what you can do?_ She thinks angrily, moves quickly. She’s one stop short of just running to the shop. She needs to see him. She needs to reassure herself that he is real, that he is with her. 

Never in her wildest dreams did she think she could live with her husband in such a calm, and mundane manner. 

Rosalie practically throws open the door, then slams it shut and locks it. There was never anyone in here but she doesn’t want to take the chance. She’s already crying, already overwhelmed. What if he didn’t know? What would she say? She looks at him, afraid for the first time in years. Nicholas mirrors her expression, looking her over to see if it wasn’t something physical he could soothe right away, but she looks just as she did when she left the house this morning. 

“D-Do you…Do you know?” She whispers, her hand over her mouth to further muffle it. Afraid of speaking it out loud and breaking whatever peace they might have had. Nicholas jerks, barely remembers to grab his cane and walks toward her as fast as he can, gathering her in his arms as she sobs and holds him tightly. 

It takes some time, but she calms down. When Rosalie finally stops crying, Nick holds her face and kisses her deeply, her hands clutching his jacket tightly as she returns it. Tries to reach more of him, it wasn’t enough, it was never close enough. She will consume him whole if she has to. He laughs lightly, pulling back as she whines softly, he rubs his thumb against her cheek and finally feels whole. The nagging feeling of forgetting something that had plagued him for days receding to calm contentment. 

“I missed you, Rose.” 


	6. all that is good, all that is fair, all that was me is gone.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Take off your hat," the King said to the Hatter.  
> "It isn't mine," said the Hatter.  
> "Stolen!" the King exclaimed, turning to the jury, who instantly made a memorandum of the fact.  
> "I keep them to sell," the Hatter added as an explanation; "I've none of my own. I'm a hatter.”

_Storybrooke, Now_

Rose Red and Rumplestiltksin had been sitting at the table in silence for almost two minutes. It feels longer when you don’t have the luxury of distraction, the seconds do drag on. After making out, he had to talk her down from storming over to Regina’s office and demanding answers, demanding leave of the town. They had things to do. He is heartened that she wishes to get on with it as much as he does, but without magic they are in a tight spot. 

Regina still had a lot to answer for however, mainly the fact that nearly all of Rose’s kingdom is missing. 

Rosalie, of course, understands the need to play it close to the vest. That they can’t go spilling it to Regina because that would just make more problems, put a bigger target on Emma’s back, and they needed her here. Rose Red was the one struggling with this idea. She would much rather take up arms, run Regina through, and be done with it. She wants her family back, wants things to be normal and functioning, wants to be back in a position of power that she knew how to work in. 

But then she looks at her husband, and thinks how could she ever want to give this up? Rosalie Blanchard had offered her an escape from the drudgery and lethargy of court life. She had done her duty, had taken up office because it was expected and needed of her. If she had any out available, she would have taken it. But there had been a need, and she hadn’t trusted her sister when Snow returned from the woods with a husband and a mismatched group of hardly a dozen, then declared war on their stepmother. How could she trust someone like that to run a kingdom? 

It had only worked because of the _Blue Fairy_ anyway-

Rumple grabs her hand, and she breathes out of her nose slowly, smiles tightly and squeezes his hand. She can’t be mad at Snow White here, because Snow White wasn’t here. And neither was Queen Regina, no matter how much she seemed the same, she was not. They had all changed with time, or most of them. 

Rosalie looks at her husband, studies the lines on his face, not hidden beneath shimmering golden skin like scales that reflected light and sparkled in the sun. Here he was old, tired, and mortal. Here, she needed to protect him. 

“Shall we go?” 

* * *

 

_Enchanted Forest, Before_

Jefferson had the unfortunate habit of appearing whenever he wanted in Rumplestiltskin’s home (“Stop whining! We’re _friends_!”), it had never caused problems because he’d never had house guests. Well now he had a house guest. Things had fallen by the wayside a bit in these last few months, he admits, because he’d been distracted. But he couldn’t very well let her out of his sight, Rose Red was liable to take his entire design and turn it on it’s head if he let her near Regina or her sister (one could argue then that having her live with him, where Regina was liable to show up should the need possess her, was not the wisest course of action but it was _safer_ ). 

Rose was not entirely happy to be cooped up in the lakeside manor the Dark One called home. She had been thriving for the first time in Sherwood with it’s civilized anarchy and easy-going way of life. But of course Regina had ruined that as well. 

(“We can trade! It’s simple! I get my daughter back and you can welcome Marian home with open arms. I’m sure her son misses her _terribly.”)_

And now Marian was dead. She was dead because of Rose, and Sherwood agreed. It wasn’t safe, it wasn’t good anymore. The Merry Men spirited her away from there, the small town they had been settling roots in since Roland was born, they’d stopped traveling as much and the break was welcome. But Rose had ruined that. She was doing that a lot lately. 

And now she was trapped in a decaying house with a man who would just as soon slit her throat as he would raise her up. She was sure she couldn’t trust Rumplestiltskin as far as she could throw him, but that was half the fun of it. Sherwood had been relaxing, a nice change of pace, but there was nothing to challenge her there. This was a hard left into the opposite direction however, and Rose spent a lot of time away from Rumplestiltskin as she tried to find her footing. 

“You’ve company,” Jefferson says, suddenly appearing next to Rumple. The man brooding in front of a bay window and looking down onto the garden where the girl was reading. It was the furthest from the home she was allowed (magic kept her from going further and cloaked her from prying eyes), he had caught her testing this boundary on more than one occasion. 

“Hm,” Rumple grunts, not bothering to elaborate like Jefferson was angling for. 

“Mayhap the reason you have been seen less and less?” Jefferson drawls, and pitches his voice purposely low, smiling at the glare it earns him. 

“She’s a _child,”_ Rumple spits and moves away from the window, suddenly feeling a lecher. Jefferson sighs, and rolls his eyes, leaning against the wall as he watches the man move almost manically around his workspace. 

“Not in so many ways. Young, yes, but older than B-“

“Do _not_ start with me.” Rumplestiltskin growls, slamming his hand on the table, which is a much more tame reaction than the last time Jefferson had brought up his son. 

“I just thinks it’s interesting! That you would choose to end your self imposed isolation like this.” Jefferson shrugs exaggeratedly, and moves over to the table, emptying his bag’s contents. “Does she know what parts you play?”

“It might be hard to believe but we do not indulge in idle gossip,” Rumple scoffs, picking through the items and any spark of hope that might have lingered is well gone. None of these are the things he asked for, none of these could take him anywhere. Magical, and powerful in their own right, but not in the way he wanted. 

Three hundred and nineteen years, eight months, three weeks, and two days since he had let his son go. His child, the best of him, slipped through his fingers like sand. And only the worst parts of him remained. 

“Regina wants to go to Wonderland,” Jefferson says when he sees his friend slip too far into his own mind. It was a careful dance the two had perfected over the hundred years of friendship (portal hopping had had unseen side effects, and it was hard to say but he doesn’t believe he’s aged in almost thirty years now), when quiet tolerance became unavoidable annoyance and any hope of a conversation died. 

“Hm, I’m hardly surprised. Her only ally is there.” Jefferson snorts, rolling his eyes and shuffling the items that Rumple had deemed insufficient back into his tote. 

“I’d hardly call her an al-“

“No, no,” Rumplestiltskin says dismissively, “her father. So bring along some fodder, she’ll want to bring the old bastard home I’m certain.”

“Are you?” Jefferson considers himself lucky for having the insight to speak with Rumple about this before leaving. He’d only wanted to tattle on Regina, but his luck had been very good lately. Something he and Grace could reap the benefits of perhaps. 

“Part of the damn curse is the heart of the thing you love most. Otherwise I’d not have suffered this place longer than necessary.” 

“So she’s bringing him back to kill him?” Jefferson frowns, not liking this and unsure he wants to be part of that. 

“In no uncertain terms. It’s the circle of life, hatter, don’t tell me you’re balking at this now. How many people have you left for dead in your business? It’s one man compared to the thousands she’s already killed or condemned.” Rumple waves his hand and then something interesting happens.

Rose steps into the room quietly, enough that neither had noticed, and looks at them with a firm but sad look. She says in a little more than a whisper: “Henry is going to die?” And then Rumplestiltskin hesitates. 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, Now_

The home is reclusive, tucked almost three miles outside of town it the thick of the forest. There was no hope of accidentally stumbling across it, and the dirt road that led to it was in such a state of disuse that the inhabitant was surely dissuading people from actually visiting. Neither of them are surprised by this, he never did things by halves and if he wanted to be left alone then he damn well would be. 

They drive the car through the thicket, having taken Rosalie’s SUV instead of the classic car her husband favors. The mansion comes into view and they both stop to wonder why Regina would have given him a mansion. 

“What if he doesn’t know?” Rosalie asks, clutching the steering wheel tightly.

“It’s unlikely, but if he doesn’t we say we want to buy his land.” Gold sighs, feeling almost nervous about this. Jefferson was, well, almost a friend. Someone he could easily tolerate at least, and not have to suffer the company of. It had been a long time, though, that might not be the case anymore. 

“Hm,” Rosalie bites her lip, but finishes parking and goes around to help Nicholas out of the car. 

They’re hardly two steps up the walk before the door flies open and Jefferson is standing there with a gun. Rosalie’s eyes widen, and Gold sighs long suffering. It isn’t pointed at them at least, so they are thankful for small blessings. 

“What do you want?” Jefferson asks suspiciously. 

“Cut the crap, hatter, do you know?” Nicholas snaps, not bothering to beat around the bush or do things delicately. Who had the time anymore? 

Rosalie holds her breath, watching Jefferson as she holds Nick’s arm tightly. She missed her friend as he much as he did, it always came out harsher when he was nervous though. 

Jefferson stares them down, taking in the sight of the two most influential people in town. Nicholas owned most of it, Rosalie was beloved. They had a good thing here, they had each other here. He waits long enough for them to second guess themselves, and then smiles widely. Laughs, and sets the gun aside. He walks toward them with his arms open, hugging them both and laughing until he starts to cry as he convinces himself that they are real and tangible. 

Nicholas tenses, and Rosalie laughs as well, hugging him back easily. Even after all this time he wasn’t comfortable with the physical affection that Jefferson displayed so easily. 

“My friends! My friends!” He cries. Nicholas untangles himself, patting Jefferson on the back tersely, and leaving the rest to Rosalie, who laughs as he clings to her and allows her to walk him backwards into the house. 

It takes a little while, for them to settle and get into it. Jefferson had spent twenty-eight years here alone, lost with his own thoughts and in self-imposed isolation. He couldn’t stand seeing people like this, practical shells of who they used to be. 

So he had kept himself busy. He had painstakingly mapped each bit of these woods, tested the boundaries and what happened, made note of who did what in town through his telescope. 

“When did you remember?” He asks, having gotten control of himself again, making them tea as they collect in the kitchen. Gold settling into a chair at the counter, and Rosalie taking his coat from him, her own draped over the back of a chair at the table. 

“I did almost a week ago, Rose just this morning.” 

“And your first thought was to come here? I’m flattered.” Jefferson sets the tea in front of them, and leans against the counter, looking at them like he’s never seen them before. “But you know as well as I do that there’s no leaving this place. Not yet,” he sighs. He expects the quiet rage of Rumplestiltskin, who is fuming silently while he thinks about their next move. 

“Do you have any idea?” Rosalie asks quietly. “I’m going to do what I can with Emma, but we need to be ready to go when the curse breaks.” 

“I’m sure there’s something that came over with the curse that would…give it a kick? I’ll comb back through the woods and my maps to see if I can find anything. Otherwise, it looks like it’s back to the workshop.” He shakes his head and Rosalie frowns tightly, looking at Nicholas. If she feels anger at putting off finding Bae longer, she couldn’t imagine how Nick was holding himself together. 

“We need magic,” he says, staring determinedly out the window. As if the solution would come fly into it. 

“Yeah, that’s a good place to start.” Jefferson rolls his eyes, like he hadn’t thought of that. Rosalie sighs softly, setting her hand on his back and looking out the window with him. It would solve a lot of problems, but she’s certain that if that was a possibility Regina would have it already. 

Although that’s not to say she doesn’t, it just perhaps might be different than they’re used to seeing. 

“Start with Regina’s things, anything she owns.” She says to Jefferson, who nods and leaves the room to collect the maps. Giving Rose and Rumple a beat to themselves. 

“Just when I think we’re getting somewhere,” he mutters. Rose leans against him, his arm coming up to wrap around her instinctually, she hums.

“We aren’t down for the count yet. You made the curse, Rumple, if there’s a workaround you’ll find it.” 

“If we had magic maybe, but we’re _useless,”_ he hisses. Rose always worried about his reliance on magic, how it devoured him and drove him. The siren song of power was one she knew, the assurance and confidence that you can do what you want because you have the authority, or the ability. It was difficult for her to separate herself into being a good ruler who took the needs of her people into mind, and a dictator who would do as she pleased because she knew what was best for them. Rumple had never even tried to and in turn it had consumed him whole. She could see glimpses every now and then though, of who he used to be, before Baelfire had slipped away. 

Jefferson says that Rose is a balm that Rumple needed to feel human again, and he’s thankful his friend has found someone like that before it was too late. Rosalie doesn’t think she’s much help though, the self-loathing ran deep, and he had seen magic as the only silver lining in life for so long that she’s doubtful that would ever change. 

Rose doesn’t need him to change though. She needs him to be happy. 

Rosalie’s phone rings, startling her and Nicholas. She scowls at the called ID and answers warily, preparing herself for more news about Henry. He was acting up a lot more and it was stressing them all out. Obviously, Rosalie knows why now. She can’t blame him too much, she’d be frustrated too (will be in the coming months she’s sure). 

“What can I help you with, Emma?” 

Emma is almost hysterical, can hardly make a cohesive sentence and Rosalie has to piece together what she can. Emma isn’t entirely sure why she called Rosalie, only that it felt right, that she was safe, and good. She was a person that wouldn’t blame her, or mock her for emotions. They’d only spoken a handful of times but the pull she felt wasn’t something she had before. 

“I have to go back into town, why don’t you stay here and make a game plan with Jefferson.” Rosalie says to Nicholas, cupping his cheek and feeling the stirrings of nausea. 

“Is Henry alright?” He asks, having assumed the same as his wife. 

“Yes, it’s Graham.” 


	7. shoot for the heart, aim to kill. If you don’t do it then the other one will.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lines are drawn, and crossed.

_Storybrooke, Now_

Rose doesn’t miss him, doesn’t feel as sad as some of the others here perhaps. She would worry, if she didn’t know exactly why. She had no idea who Graham was outside the context of Storybrooke. He had been a nice acquaintance, helped her handle Regina, but not much else. Instead, she hurts for Emma, who had to watch it happen. 

(Now knowing the familial ties between them, the heartache at having her abandoned returns tenfold and holds tight. Rose cannot look at Emma without hurting, without wanting to hold her close and make up for lost time. She has to remind herself how detrimental that would be now though, that they would be unable to have that relationship most likely ever, certainly not _soon_ , and not without a lot of work on all their parts.)

She stands beside her friend as they hold a funeral, most of the town turning up for it. Graham had been dear to them, and she would be in the same boat if she was only Rosalie. 

Rosalie holds Mary’s hand as she cries, never having stood a chance against this kind of thing. Her other hand around Emma’s wrist lightly. Emma wasn’t as receptive to physical touch, and would have balked at holding hands with someone, but the comfort was appreciated in a less obvious manner. 

The sisters had nearly rallied around her in these last few days, refusing Regina access to her, explaining calmly to Henry what had happened. (Henry had blamed himself and it took all of Rosalie’s effort not to open up to him. To reassure him that he wasn’t crazy, that this was real and happening to them no matter how farfetched it seemed.) Emma had wormed her way into their life here easily, and wholeheartedly. Which was exactly what they needed. 

What they didn’t need was Regina sinking her claws in further than she already has. Rose Red argues that killing her will take care of all their problems, and she could do it without having to suffer a lecture from Snow White about morals and grey areas. 

But it would just crop up different problems, so she had to restrain herself for now. 

(But damn does she want to go to Regina’s office and slam a letter opener into her head when Emma comes into Rosalie’s office a mess of energy and and anger and sadness and purging all her feelings out at once to the woman, who until very recently was only a reluctant acquaintance.) 

“Emma’s going to leave,” Rosalie says almost panicked, bursting into the shop and locking it behind her. “Regina fired her and now she wants to leave!” Rosalie slams her hand against the counter and moves around frantically. She’s pacing and Nicholas’s eyes follow her as she goes. He expected something like this to come up, Emma was a restless person, like her mother. If things didn’t happen soon enough then she would move on to where they would. And on top of everything she’s considering contesting Regina’s adoption, working on getting things undone (Mary had let it slip when Rosalie had stared her down for too long, unblinking and unwavering, she wanted to prove that Henry was in an unsuitable living environment and Rosalie had nearly gone apeshit). 

“Not to worry, dearest, I’ve planned for this. We need only give her what every hero needs: A villain to vanquish.” 

Rosalie had argued, he’d been the villain long enough he didn’t need to be one here too. But they had few options, and that was almost harder to stomach. They’d been backed into a corner, and were desperately clawing their way out of twenty-eight years of stagnant water. 

“No, I didn’t share in the stigma back home, I won’t let you take the brunt of things again.” 

“Rosie I do so little good, protecting you from the brunt of the towns biases is all I can offer.” Rosalie scoffs hard enough to hurt her throat and scowls at Nicholas, arms crossed tightly over herself, nails digging into her arm through her sweater and jaw clenched. 

“All you can offer? I’m not going to fight with you about how much I love you again, Nick. You mean the world to me, and I am devastated that you still can’t see that. But I can’t help you with that. I can reassure you and stand beside you, but you can’t keep asking me to put up with this martyr nonsense. We have things to do and I don’t have time for your self loathing.” She stares him down, holds his gaze and doesn’t flinch, or waver. The steadfast pragmatism of his wife is almost enough to convince him that she is right. (More or less. There will always be that voice in the back of his head trying to convince him otherwise, but it’s quieted in these last handful of years.)

* * *

_Enchanted Forest, Before_

Robin Hood and Rumplestiltskin had a tense acquaintance. Beginning during his ill-advised break-in attempt to help Marian, and continuing as they traveled to keep an eye and ear out for rumors that would benefit one or the other. 

In the years it had been worth it, to keep up this relationship with the Dark One, even if the Merry Men were reluctant. 

They had voiced this again as they gathered in a small camp, just a handful of them far away from Sherwood. The ones that Robin trusted without a shadow of a doubt, that had been his backbone these last few days as they dealt with the fallout from Marian’s death. 

Regina had been a whirlwind, appearing out of no where and grabbing Marian before they could even register what was happening. Robin had been working on instinct, and taken up arms along with most everyone else. Not the least among them, Rose, he was heartened to see. 

“My Rose!” Regina had said happily when she saw the girl, her hand held up to keep Marian suspended in the air off the ground next to her, out of reach of the other’s and in sight so that no one could sneak up on her. “I _found_ you!” 

Her daughter is older. Her hair has lost its luster, and her skin is tan, a ruddiness to her cheeks that would not be seen as delicate or attractive in court. She’s holding a bow and arrow with another group of archers toward the back, a dagger strapped to her thigh, and looking unwavering at Regina. 

There hadn’t been much in the way of theatrics. Regina had made a bargain (“We can trade! It’s simple! I get my daughter back and you can welcome Marian home with open arms. I’m sure her son will miss her _terribly_.”) and then there had been hesitation. But not from Marian.

“You _promised_ Robin! You keep your promise!” Marian had shouted, the panic in her eyes not for herself he knows. Marian was never afraid of anything, and this hadn’t changed with her unofficial adoption of Rose into their lives. 

“I’ll go!” Rose had shouted next, and Robin felt his heart tear in two as he’s caught between them. “If you promise to stop this, I’ll go with you.” 

“You’ll do no such thing Rose Red!” Marian shouts, and Regina clenches her hand, scoffing as she chokes the woman and seals her mouth shut. 

“How sweet, you have taken a shining to these savages haven’t you?” Regina sneers as she watches Rose lower the bow. “But you’re smarter for it. Let’s go home then, darling.” 

“Let go of Marian first,” Rose demands. 

“Well, you know that’s not how this works.” Regina laughs, yanking her hand forward and pulling the woman down in front fo her so she’s on the ground again. “And you still need to be punished for you insolence.” 

Rose does not do Marian the disservice of looking away. She is fully prepared to honor this agreement and be taken back to the castle to find some other way to escape. She thinks of Gilbert and all he’s sacrificed for her, her heart hurting for how she’s failed him. And now Marian, who had vouched for her and brought the rest of them to heel on Rose’s behalf. Marian who had a child and a husband and no reason to sacrifice herself for someone like Rose. She didn’t deserve this kindness, didn’t deserve to live in place of such a brave, kind-

Rose jerks in surprise, taking half a step forward as the sound of tearing flesh pulls her back into herself. 

There is an arrow in Regina, through her chest from behind and sticking out through the front. Rose is being moved around by rough and large hands now, dragged as she stares at the blood pouring from the wound down the front of her stepmother. Her ears are ringing, she barely registers how the heart stays suspended in the air when Regina’s hand falls, metal from the broadhead catching in the sunlight.

She’s thrown none too delicately onto a horse, Little John behind her and the two of them tearing breakneck into the woods around Sherwood. The two Wills, Much, and Tuck are around them, and she can hear Robin shouting orders as they leave quickly. 

That had been five days ago and Rose was just now shedding the shock of the situation. Death had not been a commonality of her life in the palace, and Robin had been eager to shield her from it. She was still young, she didn’t need to know the horrors of the world just yet. But sixteen is not so young, Marian had argued. When they were sixteen Robin was a mercenary and she had been betrothed. Rose was past due to know just what the world had in store for her. 

“I don’t like it,” John grunts as he tears into the rabbit with his teeth, waving the cooked beast around as they gather by the fire and try to stomach something. Rose is sleeping a little ways away, enough that they don’t bother her, but that they can see her. 

“You don’t have too,” Robin snaps at him. 

“Aye, I fucking do,” John snaps back. “She’s our girl, Robin, and you’re stashing her away in some castle like a god damn trinket. With that kind of man to guard her? How do you know he will?”

“History says he’ll sell her to the highest bidder,” Scarlet reminds Robin, like he forgot who they were dealing with.

“I know what history fucking says. What other options do we have?” 

“We can keep moving with her.” Much offers, shrugging slightly. He didn’t like it anymore than the others, but he saw the logic in it. 

“Regina will find us. She’ll keep hunting until she has her and that’s not a life I’m willing to condemn the girl to.”

“But you’ll condemn her to the Dark One?” Tuck asks patiently, a flask in his hand and staring solemnly at the fire. He had been grieving quietly, much more so than Scarlet, who had been more surly and antsy. 

“He has stakes in this. And Rose is someone who could stop her. It’s enough that he’ll keep them apart at least.” 

“But will he keep her _safe?”_ Tuck asks, brow furrowed and looking troubled. He couldn’t send the girl there, not until he was sure she’d be alright. And if he couldn’t be sure…Robin would forgive him. 

“She’ll be safe,” Robin says with confidence, “whether or not she’ll be happy is uncertain.” 

* * *

  _Storybrooke, Now_

No matter how Rosalie softens him, Mr. Gold is still Mr. Gold, and the town was still more or less afraid of him. Often, they have both noticed, the people will overlook the fact that Rosalie and Nicholas are married in favor of Rosalie being Mary Margaret’s sister. If the couple wasn’t physically together people just seemed to…forget. 

(Once, Rosalie had gone into Granny’s to pick up an order “for my husband” and Ruby had stared at her long enough it was clear she had forgotten that Rosalie was married.)

And this is the theory that Nicholas is working with when he asks Rosalie to sit out on the debate at town hall. Technically she should be there as being part of the council, but they were playing calvinball with the legalities of things lately so what the hell? What the hell! 

Predictably, without Rosalie, the town is more than happy to turn against him. And he is more than happy to martyr himself for the thousandth time for these people. With Emma in a position of authority, things would start falling into place. Regina would lose another bit of power to keep things as they were, and Emma could make sure that Regina wouldn’t get it back. Could win the townspeople to her side so that when she does understand what is really going on, they won’t turn their backs on her as they would have anyone else. 

“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” Regina shouts as she lets herself into the Blanchard-Gold household. Rosalie could have sworn she locked that door. “You think I don’t know that you two are pulling the strings? Day one you have undermined me at every turn!” She slams her hands down on the counter and looks at them moving around the kitchen making dinner. They share a look with each other, and Rosalie sighs. 

She wishes she could say this was an unusual occurrence, but Regina never bothered knocking whenever she wanted in somewhere. Normally she would leave her yelling to over the phone, but she had been more proactive lately, in making sure everyone knew just how angry she was. And she was almost always angry about something nowadays. 

“Would you like us to make you a plate, Regina?” Rosalie asks patiently, though she is screaming inside. 

“No, I don’t want your fucking food! I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t know what’s going on.” There’s a flicker of fear in her eyes, and Rose Red is pleased to see it. If the woman was afraid they were doing something right. 

“What’s going on is that you have let yourself into our home and are making a fuss because you believe we _rigged_ the polls. Ever since Emma Swan came into town you have been manic in your obsession with her and I am quickly losing what little respect I still had left for you, Regina. And I promise you, I am not the only one in town that feels this way.” 

“You think I give a shit what the people in town think of me?” Regina laughs, baring her teeth at Rosalie, who is gripping the knife in her hand tightly, though not obviously. 

“You better start, or the end results may be less than desirable.” Nicholas steps up to his wife, setting a hand on her arm, and staring at Regina evenly. They couldn’t give it up yet, and he knew that if this continued Rose would end up screaming at Regina and holding her accountable for all that had transpired. 

“We were just about to have dinner, so perhaps we can have this discussion another time. _Please_ , leave.” He speaks calmly, more so than he wants to, but Rose would only feed off it and he couldn’t have her murder the woman in the kitchen. At least not now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to be 10000% transparent: Regina didn't die (obvi) but Marian did. Robin's got that fancy bow, but whether he was aiming for Regina or Marian's heart is up to interpretation.


	8. “Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty. What is honor compared to a woman's love?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Two people with a common goal can accomplish many things. Two people with a common enemy can accomplish even more."

“Quick Ruby, before I pass out from exhaustion,” Rosalie announces with grandeur as she stumbles into the diner, tossing her coat open and falling into an open chair. 

“If you don’t hurry I’ll have to carry her and I am not about to do that.” Emma says, following Rosalie’s footsteps and sitting next to her. The two had been seen together often lately, for work and other things. When Emma had involved her with the Zimmer kids, Rosalie had taken the time to explain to her the inner workings of the legal system in Storybrooke, how it was probably not the same one she knew because of their small town status, conservative mayor, and isolation. (“It’s almost like it works outside the normal scope of things, but we’ve learned to adapt.”) She had set herself up to be an ally in hostile territory, which is something that Emma understood better than friendship.

“Don’t worry, I think you’ll have help,” Ruby says pointedly, setting the coffee in front of them with a smirk, and slight nod behind them. She leaves the pot, and then bites her tongue to stifle her laughter at Rosalie’s loud exclamation. Rosalie was often mature to the point ofstuffiness because she had to be, either her work demanded it of her, or the people around her. Except around Mary Margaret. With her sister, she was young, vibrant, and full of life. She was never like that with her husband, Ruby thinks as she watches the three women move in such easy and confident circles. Rosalie was loosening up around Emma more as well, two weeks ago she never would have entered the diner as she had. Emma was a balm. 

Rosalie grabs the entire pot of coffee from Emma’s hands, who makes an indignant sound and follows her as she sits at Mary’s table. Mary glares at them, holding her book to her chest and looking horrified at them. 

“What are you doing here?” She hisses, like she’s afraid to be caught with something. Rosalie leans back, surprised at the frosty greeting. She looks at Mary discerningly, for anything suspicious on her person. There’s nothing, so it must be something in the area. 

“Us? You’re the one who’s usually still trying to wake up.” Rosalie scoffs, and Emma hums in agreement behind her coffee cup. Mary was a morning person by choice, not nature. 

“I can wake up early if I want to.”

“Not often,” Emma agrees, and she smiles slightly at the sharp look in Rosalie’s eyes.

The door chimes and both their hearts sink. 

“Mr. Nolan! You’ve saved me a trip into town!” Rosalie says as she stands, smiling politely as she walks over to the man, leaving Emma to glare at Mary and have this talk. Perhaps it would sink in better, for surely Rosalie had been attempting to get it through to Mary that this was starting to cross the line. 

“Morning, Mrs. Gold,” David nods to her, looking a little waylaid. As well he should, Ruby thinks smugly, handing him the coffees and change, nodding to Rosalie. “Were you looking for me?”

“And your _wife._ We still have a few papers to go over before everything is back to normal. Difficult work, bringing someone back from the dead.” Rosalie sets her hand on his back, steering him from the diner without a moments hesitation. He barely has enough time to look over his shoulder at Mary. 

Rosalie takes a step away from him once they’re outside, and the silence is awkward as they walk toward his truck. 

“I know what you’re doing.” Rosalie says tightly, staring straight ahead. David pauses and they both stop on the sidewalk, hidden from the street behind David’s truck. 

“Getting coffee?” 

“Don’t bullshit me,” Rosalie snaps, “Mary is sickening when she’s in love and you aren’t the first person she’s loved.” Rose says this to hurt, because while she has memories of Mary in love, this isn’t true at all but she wants to wound. Wants to see the hurt in David’s face and revel in it. He has ruined more than he’s helped, and she indulges in a bit of schadenfreude. 

“I-“ David starts to say some bullshit to pacify her and get her off his back, but thinks better of it. From what he’s heard, it wouldn’t do any good anyway, the Golds were exceptional at holding grudges. “I love her,” he says instead and shoots himself in the foot.

“If you loved her you wouldn’t ask this of her.” Rosalie snaps. 

“And you’re an expert on this? I _tried_ to do right by Kathryn but I _can’t-“_

“So you’re going to drag my sister down with you? You know that the people in town will make excuses for you but Mary will be thrown under the bus the minute this goes south and it _will_ go south.” 

“No! No, I’d never let Mary take the fall for this. I want to protect her.” Rosalie laughs sharply, baring her teeth as she sneers at him, and she pulls herself back for a moment, to keep from making this physical. 

“Then stop this. If you care about her at all you’d stop this. Because if you don’t, David Nolan, I will kill you. And no jury in this state will convict me.” 

* * *

  _Enchanted Forest, Before_

David claws himself, gasping, out of the lake. The distance didn’t seem that far in the quick glimpse he’d seen as he fell from the window of the castle into the water, but the adrenaline of having a dragon chase him down was exhausting once it’d worn off. He lays on his back, his legs still in the water, and glares up at Rumplestilskin as he smiles down at him. The remnants of his cloak on the man seeming more and more like a dig at him. 

“Shall we get on with it then, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin giggles, holding his hand out to David, who’s exhaustion is great enough not to care about pride for the moment. When he’s standing again he sees the woman beside the bonfire, in a near matching cloak of what his used to be, and leather armor. Her blonde hair plaited down her back makes her look ready for a battle, but having wandered away from it. 

“Who’s this?” David scowls, his breathing more or less under control now, at least he isn’t heaving so as to make a better first impression. 

“This is your _sis-_ ter!” Rumple claps, ushering the girl forward and grasping her hand. She doesn’t look to hardly notice, her eyes on David. David scowls, terrified this is another sibling that George had taken from him. They look enough alike, with her hair, and steely eyes. “Snow White’s sister, Rose Red.” Rumple clarifies, and David relaxes somewhat. He’s heard of Rose Red, Snow would speak at length about what a sweet girl Rose is, how she was always in Snow’s shadow, her best friend and dearest confidant. She’d been terrified what had become of her, but had been unable to find her. And then, well, things happen, and other things take priority. As was the case for Rose as well, it seemed. 

She doesn’t look at all how he imagined. 

“I’m pleased to finally meet you, Rose, but I’m afraid-“

“You’re going to find Snow. And then you’re going to do what you should have done months ago and overthrow the kingdom. Plural, now, I hear.” She cuts him off, frowning tightly, he mirrors it. 

“That’s my working plan, I can’t say if Snow will agree with it.” He says warily, but Rose smiles. 

“She will. If I know my sister like I think I do, she wants to go home. Just as I do. You’re going to need an army for that.” She raises an eyebrow, looking almost challenging and David bristles. He didn’t need to hear from someone he doesn’t know how to go about things, she doesn’t know the circumstance or what they’ve been doing. 

“We aren’t waging a war.” He says firmly, and Rose grimaces.

“You might not be, but that doesn’t mean Regina and George aren’t.” 

“This is a conversation to have with Snow present,” David says dismissively, putting a stop to it, and whatever ideas Rose had dreamed up. “Which, I would like my ring back for. I did your dirty work.” David frowns at Rumple, who giggles and looks excitedly between them. 

“Of course, of course. I always keep my promises. Your ring, and, of course, Rosie is coming with you.” Rose crosses her arms, unsure if she has to fight for it. It’s been a near decade since she’s seen her sister. She needs to see Snow. 

“Of course,” David echoes, looking surprised this was up for debate. Rose purses her lips together and forces herself to relax. He didn’t mean anything by it, he didn’t mean to get between them, or even know he has she’s sure. 

“Good good! Now you get to go save the day, and you,” Rumple turns to Rose, gripping her chin and looking at her sternly, “If you stray, I’ll know.” Letting her go was proving more difficult than he had foreseen. His wife, something he never thought he’d find, or attach himself to willingly. But she had things to do, and if he did not let her go on his terms, she’d leave him on her own. 

“Why would I? When I have you to return home to?” Rose smiles with her teeth, her hand coming up to grip his wrist. Her ring catches in the sunlight. David pretends not to see. 

* * *

  _Storybrooke, One Month Later_

“You precious little idiot!” Rosalie shouts as she bursts into the station, throwing her gloves onto the desk and hardly slowing down for anything. She doesn’t stop until she’s in front of Mary in the holding cell, her finger in her sister’s face and looking ready to throw herself at the bars. Emma grabs her arm roughly, pulling her back as she sees Rosalie gear up to start screaming. 

“I didn’t call you here to make it worse,” Emma hisses, looking nervously between the two. Mary doesn’t shrink, to her credit, like Emma imagines she might have. Instead Mary looks at her sister evenly, she thinks that there probably isn’t anything that Rosalie can do that can scare Mary. 

“Emma called you?” Mary asks, and Rosalie scoffs.

“Of course she called me, you were _arrested_ Mary. This isn’t something that is just going to resolve itself, this is a serious-“

“I know! I know it is!” Mary shouts over Rosalie, who blinks in surprise. “I know why I’m here Rosalie you don’t have to keep reminding me!” Rose grimaces for the irony of it all. Snow White would constantly hound her, remind her of her failings like it didn’t keep her up at night. Of course she never saw it like that, she saw herself as her little sister’s moral compass when Rose was obviously struggling to make “good choices”. 

“Alright, calm down!” Emma shouts over them. “Go calm down and meet us in interrogation. And remember what you’re here for.” She says tightly to Rosalie, anger flashes in her eyes a moment, before she stifles it and steps back out. Wishing she had taken up smoking during their twenty-eight years here. 

_Of course_ Regina manages to worm her way into this. Of course! Never mind that it was wildly unprofessional, she doesn’t doubt Regina could recite some fake ordinance or injunction that she had just made up to throw them off. Regardless, Rose doesn’t really _care_ anymore about the legalities of things. She’s dealing with them as they come up the best she can and if that means somethings get bent in the process so be it. 

“This is unprecedented,” Rosalie snaps, leaning back in her chair, arms and legs crossed. She looks relaxed but she’s about point two seconds away from launching herself at Regina like a jungle cat and wracking up another murder charge for the Blanchard Sisters. 

“I’m here to make sure that no one shows any biases. Especially since you’re representing your _sister-“_

“Like hell you’re unbiased! You’ve been waiting for an excuse to lock one of us up our whole lives!” Rosalie almost bares her teeth at Regina, but bites it back the last second. Regina looks curious at her for a moment, but sneers the next and it passes. If Rosalie had somehow figured her out that could cause problems and heaven forbid she managed to wake her husband up with her (this would explain Emma’s easy ascension to Sheriff however, but that is something that makes Regina physically nauseous to think about and she has other worries right now). 

“Regardless of what either of us think the evidence is all that matters.” Regina says smugly, and Rosalie rolls her eyes, Mary actually starting to look a little pale about this. Rosalie hadn’t screamed anything about evidence. 

“Evidence. Mary’s jewelry box you mean. That’s hardly evidence, anyone worth their salt wouldn’t incriminate themselves like this. If anything it points the finger at someone else.” Rosalie says dismissively, flipping through the pictures and grimacing at the one of the organ. 

“Alright,” Emma says tightly, having a feeling she’s going to get her run for her money with this one. “Yes, we found Kathryn’s heart buried in Mary’s jewelry box. Do you know what happened to your jewelry box, Mary?” Mary hasn't stopped staring at her hands.

“No,” Mary whispers, obviously horrified, “I assumed it was still on my vanity. It was when I left the house this morning.”

“Do you always check before you leave the house?” Regina scoffs and Rosalie snaps her fingers at her. Hardly looking up from the papers, Regina hates how she acts like this. Like she’s above them all. 

“You are a third party and are not allowed to ask questions. You, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter if Mary checks the boxes location every ten minutes because it’s a widely distributed box. The damn thing wasn’t hand made. We’re _assuming_ it’s Mary’s and if this is all you have to hold her on we’re going home.” Rosalie stands, glaring angrily at Regina, who glares back. 

“Not until we search the apartment.” Regina snaps, and Rosalie sneers, curls her lip and looks livid. Emma is startled, afraid for a moment she’s going to launch herself over the table and beat Regina to death. 

“And when you get a warrant you can. But until _Emma_ has one, Mayor Mills, my sister and I are not entertaining this any longer.” She pulls Mary up, who looks stunned by the entire thing. Her eyes unfocused and body limp, she moves as Rosalie guides her, out of the station and into her car. 

Rosalie clutches the steering wheel tightly, whole body shaking. She has to pull over a few blocks from the station and slams the steering wheel with her hand, then putting it over her mouth and glaring out the window. A murder charge. In a small town like this? Either proving it would be too difficult or too easy and she has a feeling it’ll be the latter. Regina is already planning it, she probably has it all figured out down to the dates. Mary was set up for failure and Rosalie would be the one to lead her there. God, Regina would love this. Mary sent away and then Rosalie killing herself over the guilt. 

Rosalie taps her fingers against the steering wheel as she thinks. Maybe she didn’t have to be an unintentional Charon. 

“Rosa-“

“Tell me the truth: Did you kill her?” 

“You think I could do that?” Mark sounds heartbroken, and Rosalie turns to look at her, the darkness shielding Mary from most of her anger. 

“Of course not, but I need to hear you say it.” 

“I didn’t kill her,” Mary says slowly, scowling at Rosalie, who breathes a sigh of relief and sinks in her seat. She puts her hands over her face and breathes in slowly, screams softly and then throws herself on her sister. Holding her as best she can with the center console between them and Mary crying into Rosalie’s hair. 

“I’ll fix this. I promise I’ll fix this.” Rosalie says over and over, and Mary starts to believe her. 


	9. O Lord, O Lord, he’s somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”

_ Storybrooke, Now _

Ruby watches Rosalie at the booth, tapping her fingers against the coffee cup and scowling at the paper. The headlines had been borderline slander since Mary’s official arrest and booking. In the last week, Rosalie had been practically living at the diner, working here instead of her office. Ruby had tried to be a steady presence, more so than her husband at any rate. Gold had been in and out sporadic since Rosalie had set up camp, sometimes they don’t say a word, other times the conversation becomes heated enough they have to step outside. 

(Ruby would never admit this to any one, but she’d spied on them more than once out there. Most often she’d already missed the fight and had caught them making out like teenagers. She usually didn’t stick around for that. But once she had followed them quick enough to hear parts of the argument. Something about how the time wasn’t right, they had worked too hard to throw it away for something like this. And Jesus, Rosalie had lost her shit. 

Ruby can’t remember a time that the Gold’s weren’t married. It slipped her mind, when they weren’t together, because they seemed so ill-suited to each other. Lately though, Rosalie had seemed more like her husband than usual. Quicker to anger, more hyper focused on things. But the stress of having her sister face jail time would manifest differently for everyone. Ruby is just glad she isn’t alone, even if she doesn’t understand the relationship.) 

“Mr. Booth, thank you for meeting me.” Rosalie smiles as she stands, dressed more office casual than the leggings, sports bra, and flannel she had lounged in all day yesterday. More intimidating. 

“Mrs. Gold, this is a little formal-“

“A little less than my office, or my home.” She raises an eyebrow at him, and he smiles tightly, but slides into the opposite side of the booth anyway. Rosalie stares at him for a little while, taking him in and making him fidget. She is a woman used to being in power, he knows, this would be a difficult transition for her. “I’ll cut to the chase: You know who we are.” She raises an eyebrow at him challenging, and August scowls at her. Now taking his time in looking her over. 

“You’re awake?” He whispers, and she bites her lip to keep from sneering. “You-How long? Have you told anyway? Who else?” 

“Stop it. You know I haven’t said anything, and you know who my husband is. You’ve been snooping around him enough. I’d keep my distance.” 

“ _My_ distance?” August almost laughs, caught off guard, but bites his tongue. “I’m more concerned with Emma at the moment than whatever you and your husband are getting up to.” 

“So tell me why I had to convince him last night that you aren’t Baelfire.” Rosalie bites out, glaring at him. She’s gripping her coffee cup tightly, hoping to keep a reign in her temper. But she would be damned if anything happened to Rumple here that she could prevent. 

“I never said I was,” August matches her tone, leaning forward slightly and worried about having this kind of conversation here. But the whole town seemed to be drawn to this place, the longer he stayed here the more he felt it too, that didn’t decrease his worry however. 

“Instead you played it up to take advantage of an emotionally vulnerable man. What did you hope to gain from that?” Rosalie scoffs, glaring at him.

“Rumplestiltskin is many things but I don’t think I’ve ever heard him called _vulnerable,_ ” August mutters. “And you of all people should know what kind of risk this is with him here. Unencumbered and fancy-free? What’s going to keep him from turning on all of us when the curse breaks?”

“So you were after _insurance?_ There’s no magic here, August. He can’t do anything.” 

“I can appreciate you wanting to protect your husband, but you’ll forgive me, I didn’t even know the two of you were married until recently-“

“No one did, that was the _point.”_ Rosalie leans back slightly, places her hands on the table so as not to squeeze the coffee cup hard enough it will slip out of her grasp and spill everywhere. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself where the dagger is in her head over and over. She’s had it. She’s had it for years. Years before they were brought here, years afterward as well, hidden in their shared spaces no one knew about because no one knew about _them_. And now that they did, it was with the knowledge that they had just _always been together._ It was easy to forget because it was commonplace. 

Rosalie does not overlook the courage it had taken to have her keep such a precious item. She would give it back to him happily when the time was right, when they didn’t have Regina in such close proximity. Or people like August. 

“How can you ask these people to trust you if you aren’t honest with them? When the curse breaks and they remember, how will they act about you keeping this relationship secret?” 

“You think I give a shit what they think about me?” Rosalie hisses. “I don’t care what these people think because these people aren’t _mine._ My kingdom isn’t here. What I give a shit about is people who interfere with my family. I am having a hard enough time letting you near Emma and Henry-“

“ _Let_ me? I don’t need your permission, Your Highness,” August snaps. 

“Yes, you do. Because I am not above running someone over with my car here. But I also am not above asking for help, and I need help with Emma. If you keep your focus on her and no one else, we will be fine. But if you try to take advantage of my husband again-“

“You’ll hit me with your car, I get it." August stands, deciding he’s had enough of this and as an adult he can leave if he chooses to (seeing these people again, even in this setting, it was easy to fall back into that childish mindset again). 

“One more thing,” Rose grabs his arm as he moves past her, looking at him sternly, but she forces herself to relax and take a deep breath. She tries to keep her expression open and step back from the guard dog mentality she had been displaying. She didn’t need the answer, but it would save them so much trouble and time. Would save her husband more grief. “Do you know where Baelfire is?” 

* * *

  _Storybrooke, Across Town_

Rosalie’s office was in one of the more modern buildings in town. An office complex that housed doctors of nearly every kind, insurance agents, and both lawyers. Nicholas would prefer her office not so close to that of Albert Spencer, Regina’s poor sense of humor having placed them close together. But since waking Rose had been working from home more often, and so it was a concession they had to make to keep suspicions to a minimum. 

“Come in,” Albert says in response to the knock on his office door. He wasn’t expecting anyone, and had paperwork to finish regarding the Blanchard girl. He was looking forward to facing Rosalie in court again, she always posed a challenge. Never one he thought he’d find in the backcountry. 

He hasn’t looked up from the paperwork, nor does he catch movement out of the corner of his eye of anyone sitting down though he heard the door open and close. 

“Mr. Gold,” he says surprised, “I didn’t expect to see you so far from your shop.” Albert doesn’t make a move to stand. 

“Really? You’re losing your touch, Spencer.” Nicholas tsks, necessity forcing him to take a seat though he would rather stand and keep the tension in the room high. He keeps his hands on his cane, and knows he looks older than he is when he does this (Rosalie would snap at him about it when he was trying to elicit sympathy). 

“I suppose so,” Albert huffs in good humor, “a murder trial in our small town, can you imagine?” 

“Something the town will never forget,” Gold agrees, “a school teacher framed for murder.” 

“Ah,” Albert narrows his eyes and folds his hands on his desk, giving Gold all his attention now, “the heart of the matter. Excuse me, that was in poor taste.” Gold smiles tightly, both men cut from the same cloth, they didn’t need to beat around the bush for this one. 

“Are you surprised? She is my sister-in-law.” 

“And the prime suspect in the investigation. I’d be careful which lines you draw, Gold.”

“I know family is hard for you to understand, Spencer,” Gold sighs, looking almost disappointed, “but I thought you at least knew Rosalie and I better than that. 

“The trial is likely one the town will never forget,” he reiterates slowly, “nor the prosecution. Especially if this isn’t to play out like you are hoping.” Gold raises an eyebrow as Albert glares at him. 

“What are you getting at?” He asks lowly, hands clenched in an effort to keep himself from attacking Gold. Always, always, with this man, crawling into places he shouldn’t. Couldn’t he leave well enough alone and let Albert do his job? 

It was a fine mess Regina had thrust him into. Normally open and shut with the revenge motivated killings, but the small-town mentality of them all was dragging it on longer and longer. No one felt the need to hurry up and get this done, move on and start to forget. They didn’t want to forget because nothing this exciting ever happened in their lives. It was times like this he yearned for bygone days in the city where this would have been resolved within a week. 

“DNA is so tricky for out of practice lab techs, the smallest thing could go wrong. And everyone in town knew about the tension between Mary and Kathryn, it’s not a stretch to assume things got a little too heated. A safe assumption. Especially if the techs were hoping to make a good impression on prominent members of the town-“

“You think I _bribed_ the medical examiners?” Albert scoffs, and Gold shrugs. “I don’t have time for thi-“

“My wife has so much to worry about already,” Gold says over him loudly, glaring at him and asserting his dominance in the man’s own office, “without her sister going to jail. And what would the town think of the man who dragged a poor, beloved, school teacher through the mud only to have the whole thing thrown out?” 

“What do you know?” Albert snarls, and Gold smiles politely. Standing up, he looms over Albert and seems to grow larger than life. But it must be a trick of the light. 

“More than you’d like, I’m sure. You made one too many passes at my wife, and I’ve everything I need to make your life hell if I have to. But I hate having to lower myself to such a level. 

“You know what Regina is planning. End this, and you can skate by another day with your reputation still intact.” Gold sneers, exiting the room before this can be dragged out into something tedious. 

“This isn’t the end of our conversation!” Albert shouts after him, slamming his hands on his desk. 

“Oh no, probably not!” Gold calls over his shoulder, snickering to himself. 

When Kathryn shows up at the sheriff’s station the next day, disoriented but very much alive, neither Nicholas nor Rosalie is surprised. 


	10. you can't survive on just crabapples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> these violent delights have violent ends

_Storybrooke, 10AM - Gold’s Pawn Shop_

Emma was starting to crack. The pressures of day to day life, living in one place, the constant reminder that she isn’t good enough. She always imagined that when she did settle somewhere, it would be somewhere no one knew who she was. Somewhere she could get a clean start. Instead she’s found her way to the one place in the world it seemed like everyone was relying on her to magically fix their problems, like she didn’t have enough of her own. 

She knows what kind of look is waiting for her at home, the face Mary is going to make when she walks through the door, a bag over her shoulder and no Henry. That can wait. 

_Later,_ Emma thinks as she grips the steering wheel tightly and tries to think of literally anyone else she could talk to about this, but she wasn’t exactly brimming with friends. She had maybe two, and she already ruled out Mary. So she makes her way to the other one, and tries to forget she comes attached with judgy husband. 

The bell on the door was more charming than functional. It did its job fine, so long as you were in the front room. Any small amount of plywood between yourself and the front door and you couldn’t hear it at all. Right now Emma is trying to rip it off the door. 

“Miss Swan, as much of a shine that we may have taken to you, this is still my property.” Nicholas sighs as he comes out of the backroom, Rosalie behind him and rolling her eyes. 

“I almost kidnapped Henry,” Emma blurts, and Rosalie draws back while Nicholas tries to smother his laughter. “We just got back, he’s home. But I was about ten feet from leaving town before he convinced me to come back. I can’t take this anymore. The small town shit. Regina hovering around every corner! I can’t-I can’t _do this!”_ Emma shouts almost hysterical, and Rosalie and Gold share a look. 

Nicholas motions Emma into the backroom, and Rosalie goes to lock the front door. Nervousness coating the shop in a film that would not be easily dissipated. 

* * *

  _Storybrooke, 10AM - Town Hall_

“A little gaudy for my tastes,” Jefferson says as he takes in the Mayor’s office, spinning in a circle. Regina scoffs, watching him a moment before going back behind her desk and placing the hatbox on top of it. “Ah,” Jefferson scowls, “I was wondering where it had gotten to.” An understatement, but she didn’t need to know how he’d gone to pieces. Regina smiles as she drums her fingers on the box. 

“I’m willing to strike a deal with you,” she says, “in exchange for a little help in retrieving something, I’ll reunite you with your dear Grace.” She offers is like he has a chance to decline. She thinks he doesn’t, but she doesn’t have the whole picture. 

“Even if I believed you would honor that, there’s no magic here. And that part is required.” He grimaces and shrugs, both of them playing this off like a friendly chat and not the prelude to attempted murder. 

“Not for everyone else maybe, but I’ve been saving some for a rainy day.” 

“And it’s in the forecast?” Jefferson offers, making a face as he says it then takes a long step toward the couches, placing something between them to make himself feel better even if it didn’t offer much in the way of protection. 

“See! You are good at this!” Regina smiles, holding her arms out. 

“But what makes you think I’m going to betray my friends? Emma is their niece-“

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” Regina snaps, glaring at him. 

“Won’t hurt Rose you mean,” Jefferson says slowly, “but what if it does? What if she finds out-“

“How? _How_ is she going to find out? _No one_ but you knows anything! Are you going to give up a chance at your daughter for this? _Speculation?”_ Regina shouts, slamming her hand on the table. Jefferson stares her down, and Christ. She can’t even incite fear in this chucklefuck anymore? 

“But if the curse breaks, I’ll get her back regardless, won’t I?” Jefferson sneers.

“And how do you think the curse is going to break when Emma leaves town? She’s cracking, hatter, one more push is all I need to make sure she stays gone. And then what? You’ll pine after your daughter from afar for the rest of time?”

“I don’t have to, I have _insurance.”_

Regina fumes after Jefferson leaves. Staring at the wall and alone with the hat, she runs through her options mentally. There are precious few. Without magic she couldn’t do much, at least not without taking a knife and just carving out the girl’s heart herself. 

But magic wasn’t always physical. And the irony of putting the girl to sleep just like her mother. It was almost too good. And magic…

Regina lurches almost undignified when she remembers the books on her shelf. Bookcases packed to the gills with every book she had ever owned in the palace, overflowing with them where she could keep an eye on them. And where her son couldn’t reach. As soon as Henry had started crawling she had panicked and moved everything that could potentially hurt him, physical or otherwise. 

Regina rips the book off the shelf, her mother’s spellbook. Heavy in her hands, she stares at the cover for a few moments, weighing the pros and cons in her mind. Henry would never be her’s so long as Emma was in his life. And Henry was _her’s._

But magic worked differently here. Magic wasn’t the same as intention otherwise Emma would have died months ago. Magic was a science, a school of thought that had served Regina well. And her mother was diligent in her note taking, her observations. And Rumplestiltskin had been an alchemist, once upon a time. It was everything she needed. 

* * *

  _Storybrooke 10:25AM - Gold’s Pawn Shop_

Rosalie watches her niece pace back and forth, ranting and raving about Regina, about Henry, about her own failings and her heart flies to her throat. It takes all her concentration not to keep from screaming, from throwing herself at Emma and making her understand what was at stake. She wants what’s best for her niece, but what’s best for her is staying here with them where they could keep her safe and make sure she was loved and _dear God do not let me have to say goodbye to this girl._

Nicholas hurt because he wife hurt. But he was starting to love Emma as well. Her smiles, and her laughter, her no-nonsense attitude and approach to things. It was refreshing and not at all like her parents. She was better than them, he thinks, the best parts of them without it being overwhelming or suffocating. Even if she didn’t realize the goodness in her, and even if she was adamant that she didn’t have it. 

“So I have nothing?” Emma demands, pacing around the backroom, husband and wife watching her. “But how? You’re his agent for Christ’s sake! You know what a terrible person Regina is!” 

“And I know the repercussions of uprooting Henry so suddenly from everything he’s known. He’s not in immediate danger, and I can’t take him out of his home because you don’t like Regina.” 

“It’s not just that I don’t like her! She’s constantly undermining Henry, taking things away from him just because I was involved. That’s not a good mother that’s-that’s-…I don’t know what it is but it’s bullshit!” 

“You don’t know?” Gold asks at length, looking doubtfully at her. Emma frowns at him, twists her face up when she sees what he’s getting at. She was sick of this. It was around every corner haunting her, _fairytales_. She knows they aren’t real because she knows who wrote them. She did the research when Henry didn’t let this go. She looked into it. They were _stories_ meant to teach lessons, manners, and scare children from misbehaving. So why were they encouraging it now? And why were these two buying into it?

“No. No, I don’t need to hear this from you too. I am _enough._ Just Emma is enough. I don’t need to be a Savior, or a fairytale character. I need Henry to be safe, and happy and he can’t be that here. He can’t get over this obsession here. And _I_ can’t stay here.”

“Where will you go?” Rosalie asks quietly, her terror of losing Emma, of staying in this purgatory forever, nearly choking her. 

“I don’t know. But if I stay here Henry will always be caught between Regina and I. I can’t do that to him, I can’t be a source of turmoil like that in his life. And if I can’t have him then I-…I have to leave.” 

Rosalie bites her tongue roughly, barely stopping herself from screaming or sobbing or both. Gold lurches forward, almost on instinct to grab the thing he needs and holds it close. Emma couldn’t leave. He needed Emma, Rosalie needed Emma, and Henry needed her too. No matter what she thought, Emma was a port in the storm. Regina loves him, but she didn’t know how. 

It was the same thing she did to Rose, the same thing that drove her away. She held too tightly to the people she thought to love, until they broke.

* * *

  _Enchanted Forest, 13 years before the curse is cast_

The dinner was meant to be a celebration. Their father was getting older, and while he was still spry and in good health, one could never really know. Their mother had been young and in good health as well, but sickness still took her. Or so they say. No one had ever really said to the girls what had happened, even though they’d been the ones to console her and comfort her during her last moments. 

Rose had never forgiven their father for being away. Or the subsequent travels they had taken up because of him and his inability to properly grieve. She knows she shouldn’t blame him for it, he had loved mother of course, and would always love mother. 

So then why had he felt the need to replace her so quickly?

Regina had been their stepmother for almost four years now. Fifteen had brought insights and troubles to Rose. _But not Snow,_ she thinks bitterly as she watches her sister celebrate with their father, while Rose sits at the back with Regina as she always does. The two outcasted from their family in maybe not an obvious way, but one that was still discerning. 

As they grew Rose had expressed her impatience for her sister, and notable way that their father continued to distance himself from the kingdom and them. But what could she do? She desperately wanted Snow’s happiness, and father had earned his rest. If biting her tongue achieved these things then she would bite the whole damn thing off. 

“And my darling Snow, I could not ask for a better gift than your smile. I know your mother is so proud of the woman you have become. But I know she is watching over us, I can see it in your eyes.” 

But not today. Today, Rose is tired, stretched thin from putting up with pleasantries and attempted courtships. Tired of listening to Snow go on about the boy she thinks she’s going to marry. Tired of hearing the whispers from the courtiers about what their father had overlooked, or how the Queen had a wandering eye. 

Tired of hearing how she was destined to be in her sister’s shadow. 

Rose stands abruptly from next to Regina, her chair scraping against the floor and drawing attention to her. Regina looks up at her with wide eyes, but Rose is too busy glaring at Leopold to notice. 

“Rose, _please,”_ Regina whispers, grabbing her hand and hoping to play it off, but Rose never did things by halves. She committed all of herself to it, no matter the consequences.

Rose takes her hand back and exits from the dais their table was perched on. Not hesitating or offering apologies, she leaves the feast and no more is said on the matter. 

Until that evening, when Rose is roused from bed so that her father may properly scold her. She is unamused, and stands with her arms crossed in his study, waiting for him to acknowledge her and get this over with. He had tried to assert his authority by ignoring her for the first few minutes, but Rose has seen this trick. She knew him, knew it was an act. Rose loves her father, but she does not respect him. 

“Would you care to explain, or should I assume that you were called away on urgent business.” Leopold stares down his daughter, angry, but a quiet anger that his children have not yet mastered. 

“Assume what you want. I’m not going to apologize.” 

_You should be apologizing to_ me, she thinks and has to forcibly tap down her anger. 

“It was a poor display, Rose, and I expect better from you.”

“Let’s just say my role models lately have been lacking,” she scoffs, and rolls her eyes. Leopold glares slightly, trying to keep from doing it outright, but it was becoming more and more difficult. 

“Your stepmother is a gracious and generous woman-“

“No thanks to you!” Rose hisses, glaring fiercely enough for the both of them. Why can’t he see what he does? Why can’t he see he’s making her life hell? Regina didn’t want this. Snow and Rose didn’t want her. He was the only one with interest in the woman and now that it was waning where was she left? “You have dragged this woman into our lives and then left her for me to deal with!” 

“How dare you speak to me like this!” Leopold shouts, slamming his hand on the desk to startle her into submission. He is disappointed. Rose refuses to let these people cow her any longer. She was always the perfect princess who deferred to her father, sister, and now her stepmother. They told her what to do, how to do it, and Rose could scream most days. 

And then when neither had any interest in Regina anymore she was left in Rose’s care. Rose felt sad for the woman, uprooted from her life and forced into a political marriage. It was clear that this was not her choice, and she was making the best of it. So why did her father refuse to meet Regina halfway?

“Regina had every opportunity to decline. If she did not want to be here she didn’t have to be.” He knows Rose, as much as she might think otherwise. He knows she feels responsible for the woman, the two of them spending more and more time together. Snow had expressed her disquiet to him in private, that Rose was distancing herself on purpose and what that could mean. Now he is beginning to as well. 

“I was not there when you proposed, father, did she?” Rose sneers. 

She knows that Cora would have kept them on task if she had force their hands herself. Older, and able to reflect more clearly, she sees the way Cora guided Regina’s hand and manipulated the rest of them into doing what she wanted. The woman didn’t need magic, Rose muses, but it made her all the more terrifying. 

“And it doesn’t matter if Regina signed up for this or not. That doesn’t give you the liberty to toss her aside when you’re done.” 

“I have done no such thing!” Leopold roars, and Rose purses her lips. 

“I _saw it!_ Just now! Mother is _dead-“_

“Because of you!” He snaps, and Rose draws back as if hit. She blinks quickly, too surprised to form a response or think past the screaming in her head. It had steadily been growing since she entered the room and was now deafening. Her whole body tensed and thrumming with energy as her anger grows to an insurmountable crescendo, enveloping her so she does not have time to hear his apologies or reasonings. 

That’s hardly fair, Snow White had been in the room as well when mother died. 

“You should have left me to die in that garden where you found me. We’d all have been the better for it.” She snaps, pressing her hands to her eyes, and smiling tightly to keep from screaming and sobbing. “I didn’t _ask_ to be your child and I didn’t _ask_ to have a stepmother. Instead you made those decisions for me and I am left to deal with the aftermath. You should be grateful I have grown into an empathetic person, lest we have a bigger mess on our hands than we know what to do with. And might just yet: Regina might not decide to overlook these slights. Regina might not be the person you have convinced yourself she is.” 

* * *

  _Storybrooke, 11AM - Mill’s House_

“What are you doing?” Henry shouts as he travels like a whirlwind through his house. Ending up in the kitchen and staring with abject horror as his mother bakes something with apples. Regina frowns, leaning against the island and staring him down. 

“Baking, Henry, I can have hobbies,” she rolls her eyes. “I’ve been baking all your life, why are you suddenly so against it?” She huffs, and he narrows his eyes at her. 

“Because you’re Ev-“

“Henry Daniel Mills! If you say those words again-“ Regina stops herself, biting her lip and sighing, she walks over to him and kneels in front of him. He watches her warily, ready to bolt just in case. “Henry, do you think I would ever hurt you?”

“No, but I think you’ll hurt Emma.” Regina forces herself to keep from laughing.

“Do you remember when you came home from school last year, upset because the kids in your class wouldn’t speak to you because you were the Mayor’s son? They didn’t want to run the risk of you tattling on them even though you had never done anything like that?” Henry hunches his shoulders and looks away from her, face heating up in remembered shame and Regina’s heart breaks. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Have I ever given you a reason to think I’m evil? Aren’t you making assumptions like them?” Regina holds his hands, praying that this would finally sink in with him, that something would break through. 

“You keep trying to run Emma from town! And you tried to frame Mary Margaret for murder!” Henry cries, trying to pull away, but her grip on his hands tightens. 

“I didn’t try to frame anyone, I obeyed the law, Henry,” she stresses, “and I am worried about how you have been idolizing Emma. I am worried about how unhappy you’ve been and don’t want her to exacerbate things-“

“Emma loves me! She’d never hurt me like _you!”_ Henry shouts, and Regina feels like she’s been punched. She knows what it’s like to have your heart ripped out, intimately, but this was worse. Henry rips his hands from her grip and runs out the door again. Regina falling back and sitting on the floor, staring numbly at the door. 

Her son, her child. She had failed him. He was so dissatisfied so as to seek out his birth mother and bring her back here. That he really saw her as a villain that could not be redeemed. Her child, who she had raised and nursed, and did her damnedest to do right by, he saw the decadent villain she was. And that was all he saw.

Henry would never love her. Not with Emma hanging over his head. It didn’t matter if she left, it didn’t matter if she never talked to him again, he would always hold her on this pedestal. 

Not if Regina had anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 1 of what was rapidly turning into a novella strap in babes  
> also I realized maybe the location changes are a handy tool that we might use later!


	11. It was just like the lightning that flashes from east to west, just like an oncoming storm.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author struggles to find a plausible reason for Emma Swan to fight a dragon other than “I wanna”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosalie drives a Holland & Holland Range Rover the worst car I have ever had the displeasure of seeing and cannot fathom even one of these is in existence which means of course I had to have my babe own one of these

_Storybrooke, 10:55AM - Gold’s Pawn Shop_

Emma had left a few minutes ago, and immediately Rose had collapsed, screaming into her hand as she comes to terms with feeling helpless. Useless. She’s half folded over Gold, bent over her in turn, as if trying to protect her physically. 

Jefferson bursts into the shop, a flurry of a person he started talking before he even came through the door and so is halfway through his thought before he gets to them. Then stops abruptly. He bites his tongue, but pays it no mind and walks over to them quickly, kneeling down in front of them and setting his hand on Rosalie’s back gently. 

“Emma just left,” Gold says, and Jefferson clicks his tongue. He kisses Rosalie’s head, then stands back up.

“I can’t help with that, but I do have some good news,” he says hopefully, prompting her into looking up at him. Her face a mess of makeup and tears, Jefferson smiles at her. “Lake Nostos came over with the curse,” he whispers dramatically. Rose huffs in surpirse, she looks a little more hopeful, Gold’s grip on her tightening marginally as he reacts to the news.

“There’s no lake here,” he says warily.

“It’s not a lake.” Jefferson smiles widely as he pulls a map from his coat pocket, unfurling it on the floor in front of them. “To the untrained eye, it looks no more than an abandoned well. A wishing well, ironically. It’s about three miles to the east of my house, in a little grove without any marked paths leading to it. Only someone with an abundance of time on their hands would have found it.” He says proudly, Rosalie laughs with her hand over her mouth. She looks at Nick, who squeezes her hand and manages to reign in his own excitement. 

“Now there’s only the matter of retrieving the potion.” 

Jefferson looks pointedly between the two of them, smiling widely and gesturing, just short of clapping. He giggles, but Gold grimaces at him. Rose closes her eyes, smiling softly, and holding her husband’s hand. She loves him, loves him with all she has, but they had never tried to guess if it was that powerful. Their love hadn’t been unconditional at first, Rose had used him and he had used her and something wonderful had come of it, but it wasn’t nice. It wasn’t always good. 

“What if it’s something else?” Rose reaches into her shirt and pulls out a necklace, a small rosebud, some dainty piece of metal that was hardly anything discerning. But it held a great sentimental value to her. A gift from her parents, and a matching one for Snow White: a snowflake. They were a bit on the nose, but the girls had been no more than ten if Gold remembers correctly. 

“Do you have the other necklace?”

“Not on me, I didn’t want Regina to sniff it out if she became desperate.”

“We don’t know that it will work.” 

“We can’t get to the potion right now, we need to have a back up.” 

Nick sighs and holding her hand, kisses her wrist. Thirty-nine years, cumulative. Eleven years by choice, but twenty-eight by design and they had been beautiful years. If he’d not have his demons hanging over him, Gold thinks, he would look back on them with fond memories instead of seeing them as a waste of time when he could be finding his son. But Rosie, she deserved some faith, she had proven to be invested in this more than she had any right. 

“Back up,” he agrees, and Rosalie smiles at him. She kisses him as she stands, feeling a surge of new hopefulness and holding it fast. 

Jefferson watches her leave the shop, chewing his lip while his friend stews in his agitation. The whole situation out of his hands, the lack of control, he’d never seen Rumplestiltskin in this position and for good reason. He’d never been in this position. He’d always had an out, always known what was coming and how to account for himself. The lack of magic here had stripped him of that luxury and he’s at the whims of fate for the first time in three hundred years. 

“My friend, between the three of us, there is no way that this will not end in our favor.” Gold looks at Jefferson, who had no right to be as warm as he is, least of all to someone like Rumplestiltskin, but he had never failed in his companionship. 

“For all our sakes I hope you’re right.”

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, 11:02AM - Mill’s House_

Regina was saved the trouble of tracking down Emma Swan, for when she opened her front door the woman was there with her hand raised to knock. They both look surprised and in shock for a moment, before Regina smiles and steps to the side. 

“Miss Swan, I was just about to come find you.”

“Oh, well, here I am,” Emma shrugs, and Regina bites back a sneer. 

“Indeed. Come in, won’t you?” 

The home always made Emma uncomfortable, looking more like a model home than a house people lived in. On the surface, at just a glance, there was no evidence that this home was lived in at all. No personal touches, no items by the door. Impersonal decorations meant to fill space and a hardly used dining table that probably looked the same as when Regina first bought it. 

“I’m just going to cut to the chase: I’m leaving,” Emma says suddenly, hardly past the threshold. Regina’s grip on the tupperware tightens in surprise. 

“You are?” 

“Yeah, I-…Look this whatever it is between us, it needs to end. I can’t keep doing it and I can’t keep putting Henry in the middle.”

“Well, I’m glad we can agree on something.” Regina is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the “but” that always accompanies these things. 

“So I’ll leave, but I want to make it clear that there are conditions to this.” Emma steps forward and braces herself for a fight. “I still want to see him. I’m in his life now, regardless of what happens between us.” Regina frowns tightly, stares at Emma as she processes this and unsettles the girl further. “It’s not ideal for either of us, Regina. But we both know that a world where I’m not in his life doesn’t exist anymore. Henry is my son too, and I have a right to him.” 

“Not legally,” Regina bites out in an effort to remind herself as much as Emma, who grimaces and shakes her head. 

“Not legally,” she agrees, “but I’m told that things work a little different in Storybrooke. And a judge wouldn’t overlook Henry’s opinion. Do you really want to take that chance?” If she has too, Emma thinks, she’d fight Regina a thousand times over for Henry. 

“No, you’re right, Miss Swan,” Regina says, standing a little straighter. “And I had wanted to speak to you about a truce anyway. It’s not fair to Henry, as you said. And as a show of good faith, I made you a turnover. To symbolize us turning over a new leaf, as it were.” Emma smiles slightly, surprised by the lightheartedness of the moment, and maybe letting it get to her head a little bit. She takes the container from Regina and nods firmly, like making a point. 

“Thank you, Regina. I appreciate it.” 

“Well, have a good trip then, Emma.”

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, 11:40AM - The Woods_

Rose knew enough about magic that she knew with certainty she didn’t want to fuck with it. Growing up around Regina, her mild exposure to Cora, and then marrying the Dark One? She’d seen enough corruption from it to last her a lifetime, she didn’t need to add her name to the list. So when she recognized it, when it exposed itself in a way that was potentially threatening: You could say that she panicked. 

She’s alone in the woods, half an hour down an unmarked path that only some big fuck off car could make it through; out of the way for no one to accidentally stumble upon. After the nastiness with Mary and the jewelry box, Rosalie had taken it and buried it in the woods. And maybe that wasn’t the most normal thing to do, maybe she had panicked a little harder than usual. But she also knew that this box was tainted, bad memories from their time here, turmoil and negative emotions soaked into the wood. Well, a lot of things can be done with memories, emotions, intentional or other wise. Just like she knew a lot of things could be done with these necklaces. It’s the only things that are purely them. Rose Red and Snow White, the only two things in this world that exist as a symbol of their love for each other. Or their parents love for them.

Rose Red might not love Snow White the same pure, and childish way that had consumed her growing up, but she loves her sister with more than just herself. More than just her heart. Her whole being was devoted to Snow White and her happiness. It didn’t seem like that a lot of the time, especially the way they had left things back home. But Rose knew it was true, and so did Snow, and that was good enough. 

Rose kneels down and takes the box from the shallow hole, holding the necklace in her hand again and smiling at the small silver snowflake she’d snuck in here. 

Her phone rings and Britney Spears cuts through the poignant musing she’d been stuck in. 

“Emma,” she answers, relieved to hear from the girl again, but it’s short lived. The culmination of everything coming to a head: Rosalie is lightheaded, she leans over with her freehand on her knee and hangs up the phone. Then screams. Loud, guttural, straight from her sternum and expelling all of it from her lungs. She collapses onto her knees and then stares into them again, until she feels physically lighter, and able to handle things again. 

Rosalie calls her husband as soon as she’s in the car. Her hands are shaking and she can’t focus on much anything, which is of course a safe way to drive. She’s scared, Henry wasn’t supposed to get caught up in things like this. He wasn’t supposed to be such a major player. And now they could lose him, and Rosalie didn’t do nearly enough to protect him. 

She babbles this out as fast as she can to Gold, who takes it in stride because he’s doing everything he can not to shout at her to come home and forget about the boy. As soon as they had magic he could fix it it _doesn’t matter_. He bite his tongue, agrees to wait for her, and then hurls the phone across the shop as soon as she hangs up. Jefferson holds his arms to his side, talking to him through the fit of rage, and reminding him of all he had to lose now. 

“I’ll go to the hospital and get the necklaces, but maybe now we can convince Emma to get the potion. Don’t break anything else,” he pleads, and doesn’t let go until Gold gives him a grunt of dismissal and agreement. Jefferson nods as well, more for himself, and leaves Gold with the hope that nothing else will be broken.

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, High Noon - The Hospital_

Rosalie had not stopped shaking. Her driving is probably not the best, but they lived in a town that had nonexistent traffic so the streets were fairly clear. All she could think about was Henry in the hospital full of tubes, and in the same coma-like state they had found Snow in. Henry was too young for this. Snow and her, they had made their beds. Henry hadn’t had a chance to do wrong yet, hadn’t lived his life enough to know that his actions had radical consequences outside of being grounded. He shouldn’t _have_ to. And if he was then Rosalie wasn’t doing her job. 

It’s a good thing things are coming to a head, so she doesn’t have to worry about working as a CPS agent or lawyer for much longer. 

Rosalie nearly screams at the sight of Henry in the bed, a tube down his throat and surrounded by monitors. She puts her hand over her mouth, makes a terrible muffled sound, and then turns on Regina, who was only alerted to her presence by the sound she made. 

“What did you do?” Rosalie demands, crowding Regina against a wall as she tries to get away from Rosalie’s rage. 

“What are you talking about?” Regina demands back, her hands up in an effort to keep some space between them. Instead Rosalie grabs her throat. 

“You did this! You think I don’t know? I know you better than anyone, and you never think about the people around you. You never take into consideration how your actions might effect anyone aside from who you set your sights on. _Of course_ Henry would try to protect Emma! You arrogant, narcissistic-“ 

Regina rips her hand from her throat, baring her teeth at her, and then leaning close to Rose’s face and staring her in the eye. It must go on longer than it feels because Emma comes between them and removes Regina’s grip from Rosalie’s wrist. And thank God for Emma, because the hospital is probably not the place to have this kind of conversation or altercation. 

And it is quickly turning into an altercation. 

Regina is in Rosalie’s face as soon as they’re somewhere semi-private (shouting coming from an empty room was either ghosts or the mayor and either way the employees wanted nothing to do with it). 

“You know don’t you? When did you wake up? You were _lying_ to me?” Regina asks rapid fire and Rosalie sneers at her.

“Of course I was _lying_ to you!” Rosalie pitches her voice nastily, looking livid and scared all in the same moment. “For this exact reason! You lost your shit and now Henry is in a coma! I can’t believe-“

“Shut up!” Regina snaps. “You can fix this. You and your bastard husband can fix this-“

“Why would I want to help _you?”_ Rose scoffs, arms crossed and looking at Regina with the hauteur that Regina usually did. Emma feels winded watching this, not at all expecting this reaction when she had called Rosalie about this. She expected screaming, of course, but she thought that Rosalie would finally kick things into motion, get Regina kicked out of the hospital and give Emma power of healthcare for the time being or some shit. That was probably wishful thinking. 

“What is going on?” Emma whisper screams at them, the adrenaline of everything happening coursing through her with crazy intensity, she wants to rip her hair out and also choke both of them. 

“You know what’s happening, Emma.” Jefferson sticks his head into the room, and Regina startles rather badly. She glares fiercely at him, but he just smiles. It wasn’t too hard to find them, everyone was ignoring it either because they were polite or too busy with something else. Jefferson was no such person, and relished in the turmoil this was causing Regina. Not so much the other two, but that was soon to be remedied. 

“What happened?” Rosalie asks quickly, looking concerned. 

“No, no, I’m just here to grab the necklaces and then skedaddle.” He smiles, Rosalie runs a hand down her face. 

“You were already planning something,” Regina accuses, “you were planning on breaking this curse with or without Emma-“

“There is no breaking the curse without Emma _that’s who she is!”_ Rose shouts, hands clenched into fists, she isn’t sure if she wants to hit Regina or herself more. “And I will be damned if you take my niece from me. The _second_ we get magic back here is the second all this,” Rosalie moves her arms around erratically, “starts making sense again.”

“And how the hell are you planning on doing that?” Regina demands while both women overlook Emma having a near panic attack. Jefferson steps toward her and holds her upright, looking concerned when Emma looks through him. 

It would be easy to get stuck in this, to spiral and not find your way out. He’d done it many times, the dark hole you find yourself in, half convinced this wasn't real but nothing else made sense. Henry’s condition didn’t make sense.

“Mother’s are dangerous creatures, they’ll do anything for their children,” Rosalie says as she looks at Emma, who stares at her with wide eyes, clutching Jefferson’s hand to keep herself grounded in the present and not disassociating or worse. 

“You know how to help Henry?” She asks quietly, and Regina scoffs, but no one pays it any mind. 

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, 12:30 - Gold’s Pawn Shop_

The tensions are high, and Gold jumps out of his seat when the door opens again, a near procession coming through. His eyes narrow continually as one body after another comes in. Four people when he was only hoping for one or two at the most. Emma is looking at him warily, and then everything around the shop. Looking at things with a new light, and he smiles suddenly.

“Well, I’d say that’s the look of a believer,” he laughs to himself, and Rose walks over to him on instinct. 

“How long have you two been awake?” Regina snaps, and Gold rolls his eyes. 

“Long enough,” he waves his hand dismissively. “Now, Emma, I believe you have come here with a request.” 

“I-…I don’t know what’s happening.” She is still holding onto Jefferson, afraid that if she lets go everything will fade away and it will have been a fever dream. If she can feel someone else physically it was easier to stomach. And no one had yet told her this was all a joke. 

“Of course you do, my dear,” Gold says patiently, frustrated by her stubbornness, but making an effort, “I believe part of you has known all along.” 

“What does it matter!” Regina shouts, slamming her hand on the counter to drag their attention back to her. She looks livid, as well she should. “It doesn’t matter if Emma knew or not! Save Henry!” She almost grabs Gold’s tie, but thinks better of it with Rosalie standing so close to him. 

“Yes, yes, I have not forgotten,” he sneers at her, “what you two are going to need is a quaint little cure-all: True Love. It can break any curse, and is more rare than the largest diamond. Luckily for you I happen to have some.” He smiles at how eager the two look, Emma now on board with all of it if it means saving Henry. 

Regina’s eyes flicker between Rosalie and Gold, and he huffs as he notices. 

“Smaller, perhaps, no less heartfelt,” he says as he looks at his wife, who smiles softly and relaxes greatly, “but what we need is something grander. Something endearingly persistent,” he sneers. 

“Snow White,” Regina scoffs.

“Indeed, indeed. The world stopped for them before, to ensure their happy ending. What’s to say it won’t again? Especially with the help of their daughter.” He eyes Emma, who shrinks back and looks less eager. 

“What do I have to do with it?” Emma asks carefully, and Regina rolls her eyes. 

“Well, we have the matter of retrieving it still. Your father hid it away for me, in the belly of a beast.”

 

* * *

 

_Enchanted Forest, three years before the curse_

The breakneck speed doesn’t offer a good environment for conversation. Not while David is hyper focused on finding Snow, and Rose isn’t exactly hunting for a conversation. She wants to see her sister, put things back to right. The horses are accommodating, traveling swiftly and confidently through the wood. David can’t help but wonder if they’re not magicked to do so or if they’ll tire. So far, it doesn’t look like it. 

He thinks briefly of the woman next to him, the look of determination on her face a match to his own. Close to a decade, Snow had said, that they had last seen each other. A lot can happen in a decade, a lot can change. He worries when Snow sees her again and Rose does not match up with the memories. 

He worries for the relationship with Rumplestiltskin, and whether this could help or hinder them. 

He worries he does not know Rose well enough to account for her actions. 

He worries that Snow will never get to see her again, that they’re already too late. 

David shoves these worries down, focuses on the feeling of the wind against his face and the pounding hoofbeats of the horses. He focuses on getting to Snow first, and then dealing with everything that comes later. 

Rose stares straight ahead, no thoughts other than moving going through her head. They need to get to Snow, set things back to right, and get things moving. They were overdue to be put into motion and she was getting antsy. And it only grows the closer they get to Snow, the brighter the ring glows. 

The canopy of trees keep out prying eyes, the heavy feeling contained to this one section of the woods. Their horses slow down, and David jumps off immediately, hardly waiting for it to stop before he’s rushing over to the crude coffin Snow White is laying in. The dwarves surrounding it are speaking to him, but Rose doesn’t hear. Doesn’t hear anything over the rush of anger that holds her tight, and holds her fast. 

Her heart twists painful, and the grip on her reigns tightens. She sneers angrily, imagining the happy look on Regina’s face as this had come to pass. She remembers her sister, vibrant and happy, she remembers her laughter and dreams. Snow had only wanted to be happy and in love, to be a mother and she had never asked for more. She had never _tried_ to make life harder for anyone, even if she had. 

“Let me say goodbye,” David says and Rose curls her lip, her horse stamping its feet as it reacts to her. The dwarves look her way warily, but Rose doesn’t tear her eyes away from David and Snow, her sister’s lover. He would be beloved, she thinks, especially after he renounces his father. It would be the fallout immediately after that they will struggle to deal with. And they would have to deal with it now, for neither of them could sit by and let this slight go unchecked and whether he wanted to wage war or not this was an act of war-

Rose draws back and her horse makes a distressed sound, trying to move away from the blinding light that engulfs her sister. Her heart skips a beat, eyes wide. Rumple had mentioned it once in passing, a bitterness that was usually reserved for talk of fairies: True Love. The strongest magic there is.

_Of course it would be Snow White,_ Rose thinks, her relief at her sister being alive almost on par with her jealousy. Rose had tried so hard, had done everything she could to be kind and just and fair and everything she had been told that Snow is. She had tortured herself trying to emulate her sister and follow in her footsteps, to be the kind of princess that people had told her be. The kind of _person_ that was expected of her. 

“Rose?”

But Snow sounds so happy, looks elated and delighted and just like Rose remembered her. She dismounts from her horse and scolds herself for being upset for even a moment that her sister was alive. Because it didn’t matter how Snow was alive, only that she was. 

The reunion is heartfelt, sincere, the kind of love that Rose had missed and craved and tried to find with other people but never could. (Except she had, and he was coming up behind them with his own retinue to challenge that of the dwarves. Merry Men armed to the teeth in case things hadn’t played out hopeful like they wanted. Robin watches them warily, in case he has to step in. They had played it out night after night to prepare Rose for the worst or the best but imaginings never compared to real life. She who he had taken under his wing and tried to raise up, she is so happy. Robin prays he does not have to take that from her.)

But a sister cannot compare to a lover anymore. And while Snow is happy beyond reason to see Rose alive and well, she is overlooked for David once the majesty wears off. 

“How we’ll do everything: Together”

“Disgusting,” Rose scoffs as she leans against a tree. Two of the Merry Men with her, they’re spying on the two lovebirds from the hillside, Rose unable and unwilling to let Snow too far away from her. Will Scarlet laughs from next to her, his chin on her shoulder. 

“Don’t hate love, Rosie,” Alan-a-Dale chides, looking at the two with stars in his eyes. He’s already writing a thousand love ballads about the two, a wealth of inspiration after spending most of his life with the jaded and cynical members of the band, it was a nice breath of fresh air for someone like him. 

“They’re ridiculous. And in full view of George’s castle.” Rose rolls her eyes, her jealously eating away at her now that her sister is no longer in front of her. Pushed aside for handsomer, more malleable, things. 

“They’re in love,” the Blue Fairy says as she hovers near Rose now. Frowning at the girl and her sardonic attitude, it had soured over the years and she blames the company Rose kept. Rose groans and rolls her eyes, pushing off from the tree and walking back deeper into the woods. Alan and Will share a look, the latter amused, and latching onto something that would prove to be more entertaining than two people kissing. “Don’t let it cloud your judgement-“

“I know what I’m to do! You don’t have to keep reminding me!” Rose snaps, throwing her hand up to keep the fairy out of her face. Blue draws back, tittering as she grows to full size to keep the girl from walking away from her. She grab’s Rose’s arm, and the girl looks livid, but is unable to break the fairy’s grip. 

“I do! Because you have been insufferable! This isn’t about you, Rose-“

“No it’s about Snow! It’s always about Snow! And now it’s about David and I have to suffer their romanticism while I am separated from my own husband-“ Blue scoffs at this and Rose draws back, sneering at the woman. “He is my husband, _fairy,_ and no amount of wishing is going to change that. You cannot control every aspect of me, try as you might.” 

“That isn’t a reason to take it out on your sister.”

“I have done no such thing,” Rose laughs in disbelief. “I left my happy life to come help her. Once again, I am putting my life on hold to make sure she gets her happy ending, just like you wanted. Just like you _asked_. I don’t have to be _gracious_ about it.” Rose manages to take her arm back while Blue is distracted, and begins walking away again, Will clicking his tongue and shaking his head, while Alan looks nervously between the two. 

“You should want to help Snow!” Blue snaps after her, Rose stopping to face her again. She was goaded too easily, Will thinks. He holds her wrist lightly, stopping her from going back and losing any high ground she might have garnered. It wasn’t much, but they needed all they could with someone like the Blue Fairy.

“Just like Snow White helped me when we were children? Just like she helped me when mother died? When father did? She’s my older sister, I shouldn’t have to do all the heavy lifting in this relationship!” 

“So you wold punish her for grieving? For being a child as you were?” 

“Yes,” Rose says without hesitating, “because you would do the same to me.”

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke 2PM - Hospital_

Rosalie goes back to the hospital to check on Henry and Mary. She didn’t want to know what Gold had planned for Emma and Regina, the last stirrings of loyalty to them in revolt that they would use them this way. But she was tired of playing pretend here, tired of not having her sister with her, tired of not knowing what happened to her kingdom, tired of lying to Henry. And look where it had gotten them. 

Rosalie sits on the bed beside him, the unsettling beeping of the machines providing anuncomfortable setting around her. She smooths the hair away from his forehead and then kisses it, sighing softly as she does. Mary is hovering next to them, arms crossed and watching warily, as if Henry will wake up the moment she looks away. 

“David is leaving,” Mary says suddenly, and Rosalie frowns as she turns her attention to her. “He said you threatened him?”

“I don’t think now is the time Ma-“

“You’ve been different lately,” Mary ignores her, still staring at Henry but holding herself tighter. Rosalie sits up straighter, eyes narrowed as she looks at her sister with trepidation. She’s unsure if this is Snow White coming through ready to yell at her at what terrible decisions she’s been making, or if Mary Margaret wants to lecture and then ground her. “There’s something angry about you, Rosalie. You’ve been restless, more so than usual.” 

“Have I?” Rose whispers, her hand clutching Henry’s own. “I haven’t noticed.”

“Don’t give me that,” Mary scoffs, “You know what you’re doing, you always know what you’re doing. First you inserted yourself with Regina and Emma, and then in the middle of David and I. Does chaos follow you, or are you causing it?” 

“What are-“

“I tried to do my best with you, I tried to be a good role model and take the place of our parents, I _tried_. But it was never enough for you was it? You got married when you were eighteen. You never speak to me unless I corner you. You’re always fighting with Regina. What could I have done? What would you have had me do differently?” Mary demands, looking at Rosalie who isn’t sure if she’s supposed to respond or not. 

Rosalie stands and walks to Mary, hugging her. Mary huffs, but doesn’t push her away. So Rosalie does it as subtly as possible, clasping the necklace around her. Mary sways slightly, and Rosalie holds her steady, smiling gently. 

“I love you for all time,” she whispers, cupping Mary’s face as she pulls away from her. Mary blinks quickly, and rubs at her eyes.

“Wh-What are you-“ 

Rosalie looks at her sister carefully, hopeful, but not blind. It’s a long shot, there wasn’t enough magic here to actually break anything, not yet. But soon, and soon, Rosalie would have her sister back with her. They could pick up the pieces that they’d left behind. Start over. There were no fairies to get in the way this time, no vengeful stepmothers to keep them apart, and no kingdoms to take their attention. 

But the town would need someone to lead it, they would have to do something with Regina, and Snow was the obvious choice to take over. And Rose would be leaving soon with Rumple, they’d have to find a way to assimilate, to make a new life. It will be difficult, especially as people come to terms with staying here, but Rose is confident that it will work out for the best. It was better here. 

“I love you,” she says to Mary again, and smiles sadly, before leaving her with Henry. It would work out for the best, she reminds herself, all would be well.

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, 1:30PM - Under the Library_

Emma is sick the moment she steps out of the elevator. The sword is too heavy for her, her hand is cramping from holding it too tightly, but she can’t let go. She wipes her mouth with her free hand, and looks around the empty cavern. 

Regina had told her that Maleficent the dragon was hiding down here and Emma had laughed in her face. Looking around the cave now though, she thinks she could feasibly find a dragon here. Emma is halfway hoping this plays out like the Harry Potter movie, where she can swoop in, nab the potion, and then be on her way without, you know, having to actually fight anything. 

She doesn’t know how to use a sword. Why would they give her a sword? She has a _gun_ and that is better is almost every way, she _shoots things_ and it _hurts more_ when she does than any sort of hacking she could get at the dragon-…scales? Hide? Either way it was probably tougher than regular human skin. 

One of the rocks is breathing and Emma covers her mouth, tries to keep from being sick, but manages it once again. Her whole body is shaking, and she focuses on the image of Henry in the hospital, breathing through a machine. She thinks of his smile and laughter, his starry eyed belief in her, unwavering even now that he’s known her for almost a year. 

Emma adjusts her grip, reminds herself that she has a gun if all else fails, but they wouldn’t have given you a sword without a reason (even if she’s almost certain that reason is because they just hadn’t invented guns yet. Rosalie seems like a gun kind of person. She should have been doing this, wasn’t she a war hero or something? The book was really vague about that- Okay, Emma, focus. Dragon. Dragon first.). 

The breathing rock lifts up on its own, her hunch confirmed that even fantasy rocks don’t breathe. Emma swallows her nausea a third time, unsure if she could actually do this but confident they had little other choice. 

The dragon levels her with as close to a glare as it can get, smoke billowing from its closed mouth and pulling back to show off sharp sharp teeth that are at least as big as Emma’s arm. Emma holds the sword tight with both hands, and stares back with as much confidence as she can muster. It roars at her without breathing fire, and Emma had stopped thinking entirely when the rock became an honest to God dragon, so she’s working exclusively on instinct now. Emma roars back. 

But Emma can’t breathe fire, so when she sees the neck of the monster start to glow, she ducks behind a stalagmite and grabs her gun because there was no fantasy rules about wounding them with a gun (she’s seen enough movies to know to kill it with the sword, thanks). The loud echoing sound of it being fired is enough to leave a ringing in Emma’s ears, and Maleficent draws back from the sound, never having heard it before. 

The dragon hovers off the ground slightly, distracted by the ringing in her own head and clawing at it, Emma aims a second time for one of the wings, tearing a hole in it and grounding her. Maleficent roars again and spews the fire around her madly, her anger fueling it and scorching the rocks. 

She keeps her head low, and Emma watches her from around her hiding spot, the dragon slowly closing in on it. There’s one long scream going through Emma’s head as she moves around the stalagmite, keeping just out of sight. She moves quickly to another one near her, and uses the time it takes for Maleficent to realize she’s going in a circle to climb to the top of it. She grips the sword tightly with both hands, looking down at the dragon, and embracing her own anger. 

Why should she have to do this? Why does she have to be the person to save these people? She wanted her son, that was it. She didn’t give a shit about anyone else, but they all relied on her to solve their problems anyway? They needed her to fix their mistakes? Because they weren’t competent enough to do it themselves? And now her child could die because of it. Because selfish, unforgiving _monsters_ had had a second too long to themselves and decided the rest of the world needed to suffer with them.

They had taken her whole life from her, and still they expected her to save them. 

Emma screams in her anger and jumps from her perch, sword lifted over her head to slam down into Maleficent’s head, tearing through her as she looks up and Emma falls downward. The screech from the dying beast is enough to give Emma nightmares for a few months. 

Emma staggers backwards and leans heavily against a rock, sitting as she watches the dragon glow a blindingly bright golden and then burst into enough ash to coat her entirely. She wipes it from her face, and a golden Faberge egg settles on the ground where the dragon had been.

“Seriously?” Emma mutters. So it was only Harry Potter when it was suitable then. 

Emma approaches the egg slowly, pokes it with the sword and waits for something else to happen. But nothing does, so she scoops it into her arms and heads back to the elevator to get the fuck out of here. 

Emma huddles in the elevator, the egg resting between her knees and stomach as she tries to get her adrenaline under control. Her heart is beating wildly still and she can hear the blood rushing in her head. She looks at the egg and thinks of her parents, their love for each other, and how it could be this powerful. Mary Margaret? Her mother? Snow White…

Emma scoffs and stretches her legs out in front of her, holding the egg and admiring the detailing on the casing for a moment, before the elevator jerks and stops. 

“Hello?” She shouts, the almost open-air concept of the old elevator at first having worried her, but supposed it was ideal for moments like this. She jumps when Gold sticks his head in the shaft and looks down at her. 

“Miss Swan? I thought you and Regina were both gone-“

“What are you talking about?” Emma snaps, almost wailing. She’s exhausted, angry, and doesn’t have time for this. 

“Regina isn’t here, Miss Swan,” Gold says blandly, frowning at her. 

“What the fuck do you mean she isn’t there?” Emma shouts, pressing her hands to her eyes. She needed Regina to use the fucking potion and understand what the hell this was all about. Does she make Henry drink it? Does she pour it on him? Run it under his nose like fucking smelling salts? 

It was too much to ask, she thinks, for one fucking break. 

“Flighty creatures,” Gold sighs, “never lose their nature,” he shakes his head. “A good thing I came to check on things then, isn’t it? Toss up the egg and I’ll have you out in a in a trice.”

And Emma is exhausted, emotionally and physically, because she doesn’t think twice about it. The calm, easy, confidence of Mr. Gold is nearly intoxicating. He can make you believe whatever you want with charisma alone, coupled with her already compromised state, Emma tosses him the egg and only thinks to maybe double check after it’s left her grasp.

Gold smiles down at her, and chuckles softly. 

“Really, you have been an immense help, Miss Swan. And it’s not so difficult as all that: You just need to kiss the boy. True Loves Kiss, breaks any curse.” He tsks, and disappears from Emma’s line of sight. 

She screams.

 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, 2:45PM - the Wishing Well_

It is a terribly romantic setting, Rosalie holding Nicholas’s arm as they watch the egg unfold in the back of her Range Rover, the soft chirping of birds and the comfort of the deep woods. Knowing they were alone and without the threat of being interrupted. Rosalie leans her head on his shoulder, frowning at the potion and how her sister would once again be saving the day. Nicholas stares at it, the potion emitting a soft fuchsia glow, he reaches for it, but pauses. Rosalie’s grip had tensed on his arm. 

“What’s wrong?” Gold asks quietly, looking at her in concern. She looks up at him and forces a smile, her nerves getting the better of her. He clicks his tongue and sets his hand over hers. “All will be well, my love, we have weathered worse storms.” 

Storms of our own making, they know it. This was all by their own design, all the trouble they have was because they couldn’t face their own insecurities. Were they running from it again, doing this? Were they making more trouble? Because of demons they couldn’t shake? Rumplestiltskin would never admit to letting his son go of his own volition, just as Rose Red would sooner die than own up to enjoying the power she held as Queen. With the magic, with the security of having a fallback to keep them safe and comfortable, they didn’t have to admit to these things. But what if their time had come? 

“Your sister will forgive you, you know she is incapable of holding a grudge,” he reassures her when her grip does not loosen. Rose sucks in a sharp breath then bites her lip, looking down at her muddy boots and tapping them against the ground as she starts to fidget in her anxiety. 

“I’m not worried about my sister, what if the rest of them don’t?”

“To hell with the rest of them,” Gold says easily, gripping her chin and tilting her head back up to look at him. “The rest of them are not yours to worry about. Your sister will love you regardless, she will influence them well enough. 

“And no matter how it turns out: I have loved you for years, and will for many more.” Nicholas kisses her forehead, and then kisses her proper, and Rosalie smiles. She relaxes, nods to him, her trepidation easing as they approach the wishing well. Nicholas pours the bottle into the well, and almost immediately the same fuchsia color smoke begins to billow from it, seeping over the ground, enveloping them furiously. His grip on Rosalie tightens, holding her against him and smiling widely as they watch it coat the world around them. 

The rush of power when he inhales the smoke, the thrumming of magic under his skin, a spike of adrenaline, the feeling of a craving sated. Rumplestiltskin laughs, puts weight on his bad leg which does not buckle under the pressure. He laughs again then grabs Rosalie, holding her face and looking at her as if seeing her for the first time. When she smiles at him, he is swallowed by the feeling of relief. He huffs slightly, pressing his forehead to her’s and she kisses him almost abruptly. Almost as if both were waiting for the other, Rosalie was always impatient. Rumplestiltskin holds her tightly, the feeling and sensations magnified like they’re new again, everything feels more: Brighter, stronger, intoxicating. 

No matter how many times it happens, Rose never gets used to it. It’s maybe the dozenth time she’s traveled by magic, but it still leaves a lingering feeling of nausea, vertigo that leaves her reeling. She presses away from Rumple for a moment to get her bearings, and steady her breathing. He has no interest in stopping however and kisses her neck, pulling her jacket off simultaneously. Rose laughs, she lifts his head up gently and looks him in the eye, the golden tint a more threatening look than before, it sends a thrum of excitement through her and makes her smile with a touch more menacing than she was known for here. 

“Welcome back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao y'all didn't expect me to write a sex scene did you?? this is family friendly unhealthy relationships and fantasy murder


	12. "Alone and loveless here, with just the girl in the mirror. Just her and me."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How does one go from warmonger to monarch? Not easily, if Snow White has anything to say about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for implied abortion  
> tw for excessive use of italics too like, a ridiculous amount of italics  
> playing around with the idea of religion in the Enchanted Forest, there is no way someone as overpowered as the Blue Fairy doesn't have like. A religion or cult centered around her.

_This house is not your home._

Rose Red rides through the remains of the castle town. Sallow and terrified faces watch her from glassless windows. She is at the front of her retinue, leather armor and chainmail, dirt and blood on her face and hair. They’d had just enough time to shed the heavy armor from battle, before she had demanded they keep moving, to go to the town and see the damage themselves.

_These people are not yours._

Rose can imagine the town in its prime when she closes her eyes. Her father’s sigil is burned into her mind, the streets marked with a flag on every corner, a peacock haloed by a sunburst. They weren’t a wealthy kingdom but they were prosperous, and _loved._ And one woman had torn that apart, left ruin and desolation in its place. 

_Who are you to lead them? You’ve never led anything in your life._

Whispers grow to crescendo as she travels further into the town, toward the castle gates. There are no soldiers, no guards, or armed people who are not in her train. No one to impede her approach, and she doesn’t know what she expected. Perhaps the backlash of being the second daughter, that her reputation had mutated into something unrecognizable like Snow’s. Perhaps that Regina had cared for them more than she let on, that she recognized the need to provide, and protect. It was silly dreaming, Rose supposes. 

_You don’t belong here._

A man steps up to her, thin and angry looking. Rose pauses, and more come out of their houses, more peer out windows and around doorways, she is overwhelmed for a moment of just how many people still lived here. 

Where else would they go? The other kingdoms didn’t care, they’d have dealt with this themselves if they had. A stab of anger seizes Rose and she resolves to consult their alliances again, to make sure that her kingdom is self sufficient, that they would never have to rely on anyone else like George. 

And damn them to the lowest levels of hell if they think she is coming to their aide in the future. 

“Are you home for good?” The man grunts, looking at her suspiciously, she doesn’t blame him. She’s a sight, coated in dust and dirt and dried blood, looking more like a soldier than a princess, and so angry. 

“Yes,” Rose says quietly, “I’m sorry it took so long.” 

“You’re here now. And your sister?” She hesitates and looks off past him, toward the ruins of the fountain that marked the edge of the town and the beginning of the royal’s land. It was not a fence, their father always welcomed people to audiences with him no matter background, income, or age. The separation hadn’t been there, but Regina had put that to rights. 

“Married.” Is all Rose can think to say, the ghost of her sister young and laughing in the fountain haunting her and taunting her. Rose closes her eyes, schools herself to keep from showing any hesitancy or doubt, and looks back at the man. More have come around them, men, women, children. 

“The Queen?” 

“Snow has her. In a cell.” The people speak at once to each other, and Rose cringes slightly. The whispers no longer whispers, and she appreciates it to an extent, but does not want to be mobbed right now. She is thankful she is still astride a horse. 

“She should be dead.” The man says, and Rose nods jerkily. 

“I have made my opinion on the matter known.” The people look at each other, their hesitance dying slightly. They had little choice, but it was still their choice. If they didn’t want her they could easily drive her from her horse and have her hung for abandoning them in the first place. “I want to set things right, I want my home back. But I need your help. I cannot fix things on my own.” 

They do not kneel, that would be asking too much. Rose does not expect anything from them. Her claim is shaky at best, her experience is not there, and she has a band of rogues and bandits at her back. But still the people part for her, letting her through the rest of the way to the castle, and they watch her as she does. Their eyes boring into her back, and embedding themselves into her heart. So she does not forget them, cannot forget them. 

Rose Red still feels their eyes on her as she walks through the remnants of her home. The only part of the castle that was maintained was the part that Regina lived in, and the rest had been left to its own devices for near a decade. The walls crumble, nature is overtaking what it can reach, and all the surfaces, from the front hall to the bedrooms in the back of the castle are covered in mirrors. 

Most all of them are broken in some way, dirty and smudged. Alan had wiped away the grime from one and it had hissed at him. The Merry Men look at Rose alarmed, she purses her lips together as she contemplates it. 

“Destroy them,” she says, then walks toward the wing that she and her sister had lived in. 

_Will you be better than Regina? Will you be kind and compassionate like Snow White? You were never enough like your sister, and you are too old to emulate her now. People will_ know _your insecurities and your weakness. Why would they want someone like that to lead the-_

The shattering of glass isn’t nearly loud enough to satisfy Rose, the tearing of her sleeves as she pulls her hand back out of the mirror is almost louder. She looks down at her hand, picking out shards of glass from her glove casually, and turning to look over her shoulder as she’s approached. 

“Here too?” Robin sighs, stepping into her room and looking at the remnants of a young Rose Red. 

“Seems she enchanted all of them,” Rose mutters, clasping her hands in front of her again. “Are they working on it?”

“It’s a large castle,” Robin sighs, “it’ll take some time.” Rose hums, but nods. Robin looks around the room, taking the liberty of touching things and lifting them. Moth-eaten fabrics from the bed and the furniture, he’s sure the clothing left in the dressing room as well. Dust coated everything, even the fireplace. There's a smattering of bloodstains next to the bed. 

“Gilbert,” Rose says when she sees him pause, "he was hurt when we fled. I am unsurprised to see the room untouched since.” She speaks casually, as if she isn’t hurt by this. 

“You should sleep, Rose, it’s late. The castle will be here in the morning.” Rose looks out the window, the darkness of the sudden night creeping over them. She can hear the Merry Men in the halls, loud and lively as they always are. She thinks it fascinating they aren’t disturbed by this place. The ghosts that linger around every corner, the emptiness of it all echoing in your head and through your body. 

She’ll start hiring staff again in the morning. She doesn’t care if the Merry Men abandon her for Sherwood, she has to have _someone_ in here. She will not crumble to isolation and loneliness like her stepmother. Even if she has to fabricate the relationships herself. 

“Not here,” Rose says and heads to the door on the way out, Robin falling in step behind her. “You’re all settled?”

“Aye, the boys are jumping around from room to room in amazement.” 

“Don’t let them break anything, I’d like to sell what I can to supplement the rebuilding. I can’t imagine Regina left much money for us.” There was so much to do Rose’s head start swimming with it, she almost thinks to head to her father’s study and start work right away. But she knows Robin would hardly let her get away with that. 

Robin lingers a moment, unsure how to broach the topic and having failed to put the task onto someone else, shifts slightly and sighs. Rose looks over at him, scowling as her patience wanes and he frowns at her. 

“Your sister will be here by weeks end, they’ve been spotted just outside Deerhollow.” 

_Just outside the border,_ Rose thinks, frowning along with Robin and crossing her arms over herself tightly. There was no note, no bird or messenger for her to shoot and take her frustration out on, just her sister and her assumptions. Rose was going to invite her back if she’d only waited a damn moment for it to happen. _But that’s just how Snow is,_ Rose grimaces and nods to Robin, who sighs again and steps toward her. He holds her arm, the steadfast presence of him reassuring as they walk through the castle toward the guest rooms where the rest of the Merry Men were to sleep as well. It wasn’t a welcoming feeling being here, she couldn’t imagine stomaching the thought of staying alone in the same wing she lived in before.

Rose doesn’t sleep, of course, she’s standing at the window watching the lights in the castle town. She remembers how it would be bustling even into the night, how the city thrived and the people in it. It was a far cry from that now, nearly empty and dark. The few lights she could see she knew were from the soldiers. She had heard through the grapevine that more were moving this way, and while she was glad to see her home return to its glory, she was nervous. 

But there were people moving back to the kingdom, slowly, but they were coming. The veterans family’s; people who were curious to see what had become of the young girl; outlaws she had pardoned in the woods, desperate and afraid and willing to promise anything if it meant going home; people who were still afraid of Regina, and saw the safety provided in the new Queen. 

“You should sleep.” 

Rose turns around, unsurprised to see Gilbert letting himself into her room. It had been difficult to separate themselves when he’d returned. They had both fallen into that pattern in the days leading up to their run. But it was different now, and he was needed in the barracks more often than not to keep an eye on the green boys, and teach them to survive. The worst was over, but they should always be prepared. 

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Rose sighs, rubbing her eyes. “What right do I have to that luxury? What right do I have to any of this?” She snaps, gesturing wildly around her. 

“Birthright,” he answers easily, sitting in a chair at her desk and folding his hands over his stomach, looking perfectly at ease in being here again. “The strongest claim of all. You’ve been like this for days, Rosie, have you talked to that husband of yours yet? I don’t know how he puts you at ease, but suppose it doesn’t matter does it?” He hums, and Rose is envious of how much grace Gilbert has shown, how easy it is for him to fall back into place after all this time. She did not ask where he had gone to, what he had done, and she did not plan on it. If he did not want to tell her, then she would not make him. 

“It’s just one more thing to worry about,” she mutters, then turns to look back out the window. She didn’t know where her wayward husband was either, he came to her when he wanted. She had refused to allow him to help in the war, would not follow in predecessor’s footsteps in using the Dark One to their advantage. That power was not for them, was not for them to manipulate and use to their own ends. Perhaps it had been a detriment, and that things would have moved on much more quickly if she had, and she knows he would if she asked, but she didn’t want to give them a reason to distrust her. 

The rest of the world was not so keen on him as Rose is. 

“You’re not going to tell Snow White then?” Gilbert sighs, looking at her a little disapproving. He had been filling the father role much easier now, and Rose hasn’t decided if she likes it yet. 

“Why should I? I know how it will go: She will act horrified and scared, then blame him for manipulating me and use it as an excuse to keep a close eye on me. I don’t need her keeping an eye on me, I don’t need her looming over me with her self-righteous bullshit. 

“She knows best simply because she is _Snow White.”_ Rose spits, and is gripped tightly by the jaded attitude she has been displaying around her sister more often. It had come on her suddenly, their time apart from each other having exacerbated it and thrown her into a frenzy. 

Physically she could not help but think in Snow’s best interest, physically it made her ill, physically she wanted to hurt someone but that someone couldn’t be Snow. Damn the Blue Fairy for sticking her nose in things, damn her for deciding Rose was worth less than Snow. Who gave her that right? The monuments that they worshipped in the churches? The universe that had born her into the Fairy Queen title? 

Yes, Rose concedes, they were all very valid reasons. 

She cannot blame the world for idolizing someone like the Blue Fairy, of all the saints and deities in the world she was a safe one to choose. 

“You know your sister loves you, Rose,” Gilbert frowns, and Rose whirls on him, her mouth open to shout, before she snaps it closed. Her teeth click with the force of it and she clenches her jaw. 

“I _know._ And that makes it all the worse.” 

He leaves her alone after that, and Rose manages a few hours of fitful sleep. She can only think of all the work that needs to be done, and worry about where her degenerate husband has disappeared to this time. 

Somehow she manages to pull herself together, to look more like royalty when Snow and David’s retinue is spotted. The overcoat is stiff, but it’s not dirty or full of holes, she thanks the gods for small mercies. Rose scolds herself when she starts comparing herself to her sister in her head, imagining the flawless beauty of Snow White who has been traveling for almost a week. They were adults now, women with responsibility and bigger things to worry about than the effortless way that Snow’s hair hangs around her shoulders even though it’s not seen a brush for longer than she can remember. 

“Rose, you look well,” Snow smiles as she hugs her sister, and grips her forearms. Rose smiles and shoves the doubt telling her that she doesn’t look nearly so well as Snow back down, she’s sure it makes her look ill but no one comments. “It’s so surreal being back here. I can’t imagine it was easy sleeping here again.” 

“No, I’ve taken up in one of the guest rooms,” she admits and Snow sighs sadly. She links their arms together as they walk into the castle, the party she had traveled with following at a more subdued pace, and something Rose is going to have to address, she’s certain. 

They’re a motley crew that don’t look like they’ve ever served in any sort of royal or military capacity before, and her stomach clenches unpleasantly. There are a great many of them, but she has no room to speak, the Merry Men hiding around every corner as they are. There are more of them than Snow remembers seeing in the woods, the hasty battle plans made and executed had meant neither woman had met all of their sister’s supposed army. 

It wasn’t as much of one as Rose would like. 

It was more of one than Snow would like. 

“I imagine you’re anxious to get back to Sherwood,” Snow says as they settle inside of their father’s study. Neither sitting behind the desk, too afraid of it still. Rose had contemplated it, but never brought herself to do so. 

“Sherwood? Why would I go back there?” Rose frowns. She looks at her sister’s casual and comfortable posture and stifles another flare of jealousy. That Snow could feel confident and at ease anywhere she was. How was it that Rose was so unlike her sister? 

“I just assumed, did you find another place? Nottingham probably drove you from that one, didn’t he? He’s been gaining infamy, that man,” Snow says casually. She’d been unable to keep her focus on any one thing in here. The room was still exactly as she remembers, Regina had probably locked the door and never looked back. Rose had had someone in here to clean it though, and everything was still in place. Her eyes skitter back to her sister, who is looking at her with a startling intensity, holding her gaze and refusing to break it. 

“I’m not leaving here, Snow,” Rose says slowly, testing the waters of her sister’s assumptions. As she suspected, Snow frowns back. 

“Did you find some land here?” 

“No, I’m not leaving the palace. This is my home-“

“Oh, no, Rose,” Snow sighs, and looks startled, sadly at her sister and Rose grips anger to her tightly. It comes upon her fast and fierce. How dare she? How dare she try to drive Rose from her home yet again? What _right_ did she have? 

“You might have captured Regina, but I took back the castle. This is my home, you and David have your hands full with George’s kingdom-“

“It’s not all that complicated, we’ll have it all settled within the year. There’s more to do here and we have the backing already-“ Rose stands up suddenly, Snow bites her tongue in surprise, but watches her sister patiently. Rose clenches her hands and takes a few measured steps back to give herself more space. More space to breath, to run, to scream, she doesn’t know yet. 

“And you weren’t going to tell me at all? You were just going to assume that I would hand it over to you?” Rose seethes, lip curling over her teeth and were Snow not so certain her sister would never hurt her she would take it as a threat. 

“I know you aren’t happy here. This isn’t your first choice, you can go back to living in the woods with your bandits and be _happy.”_ Snow says gently, trying to placate her and help her see reason. Rose had never been so angry when they were children, and the few times Snow’s seen it since they’ve reunited it had not been directed at her or for her to deal with. 

“No,” Rose says, “this is not my first choice, nor was it my first choice to have a stepmother who wanted to kill me. But here we are. And I’ll not be driven from my home again.” 

“I’m not trying to drive you out!” Snow cries, putting a hand to her chest and looking almost desperately at her sister to understand. “But this kingdom is not _yours_!” 

“It felt like mine when I was fighting past Regina’s clay soldiers. It felt like mine when the remnants of the town welcomed me back and allowed me to pick up the pieces. You look out there at those people, Snow, and tell me they would be happy with another passive ruler. Regina didn’t rule, she didn’t do shit. And you’ve never made a hard decision in your life-“

“How dare you!” Snow stands now, shouting and asserting herself. Rose sneers at her, swallowing her surprise at how little it took to break her of her control. “You have no idea what I had to do in the woods! Regina never wanted to kill you she wanted _me!_ You know that!” 

“So it doesn’t matter that I was driven from my home and hunted as well? Doesn’t matter that I had to fight my way back here and became something I never wanted to be! I applaud your resolve, sister, and never losing your sense of self out there but we are not all so lucky to have escaped unscathed!” 

_“My suffering is not less than yours just because it is different!”_ Snow shouts loudly, echoing in the room around them and chilling Rose. She looks wide-eyed and terrified for a moment that Snow actually did become something else out there. They stare at each other in silence for achingly long seconds, dragging on as they settle slightly and rationale returns to some. “Two days,” Snow bites out, “you have two days to decide to leave this place quietly and settle with the Merry Men wherever you wish.”

“And if I decide not to?” Rose says quietly, Snow glaring at her. 

“Do not ask me to, Rose, please.” She whispers, and Rose sneers at her. 

“Get out.” 

* * *

 

Rose slams her door, having fended off the Merry Men and their attempt to offer council or comfort, she didn’t bother to find out which. She is determined to be alone and figure out what just happened, how to stomach it and the idea that she might never have her sister back again.

Rose moves quickly, manically, grabbing whatever is closest to her (a discarded book on her loveseat) and hurls it at the window. Her skin feels too tight, her bones too big, she wants to claw her skin off and start over. 

“R-Rump-Ru- _Rumplestiltskin!”_ She shouts, suddenly desperate to see him. Her heart twits in her chest, and she half sobs and half screams in her anger and sadness. 

Why? _Why?_ Why couldn’t Snow just let her have this? Why did she need to take everything from Rose? Their parents love and attention, her stepmother’s ire, the kingdom’s devotion, it was all her’s without having to ask or beg and- _and_ she was married and happy. Couldn’t she let Rose have _something?_ All she wanted was a home, was that too much to ask? 

Rose feels the oppressive weight of magic and she turns quickly, already reaching out to her husband. She draws back just as quick though, not her husband. This is not who she had invited into her rooms. 

The Blue Fairy, haloed by the setting sunlight streaming in from the windows making her almost _glow_ for gods sake’s, she looks like every effigy made in her honor and Rose _hates her._ Snow’s claimed her as a patron deity already, did she need to bother Rose now as well? 

The Blue Fairy looks at Rose curiously, having already planned on coming in to scold her and shame her into submission on Snow’s behalf. This was ridiculous and Rose knew it, she was grasping at straws and looking for reasons to cause strife now. But that was then, this is now, and now she feels a roll in her stomach at the thought of what Rose had been up to with the Dark One. She knows they’re married, has not wanted to think about it longer than she has to but now it is staring her in the face. 

“You’re pregnant,” she says, unable to look away from Rose’s stomach. Rose who draws back and puts her hand over her stomach immediately, who angles her body to the side protectively out of instinct and blinks in surprise. She looks down, her anger ebbing as she thinks about a child inside her. A baby. _His_ baby. 

Oh Dear Lord. 

“You can’t be a mother,” Blue says and Rose looks up at her sharply, anger and anguish back on her face, she has already fallen madly in love with this child for the thirty seconds she has known of them. 

“And what do you know about motherhood?” Rose hisses, curling her lip and wrapping her arm around herself, hunching slightly. She looks like a wild animal and feels like one as well, cornered and terrified and angry. 

“What do you?” Blue snaps back, “you’re a _child-“_

“I wasn’t a child when you needed me to do the heavy lifting so that Snow didn’t have to!” Rose shouts and moves away from her. “I was happy living in the manor with Rumple, I was _content._ Why, _why_ did you make me come back here? I didn’t _want this!_ ” Rose sobs, her mind a thousand different places. She doesn’t know what she wants. She wants to go home, she wants to stay here and see things through, she wants Rumplestiltskin. 

“Your sister needed help-“ Blue hisses quietly and Rose cries out, making a jerky movement with her hand she doesn’t know whether it’s to grab the fairy or her own head but it never lands either way and Rose puts it over her mouth to quiet her crying. 

“So I had to give up my life-“

“Yes! You did!” Blue says loudly in frustration, glaring at her and how she stubbornly refused to acknowledge other people. The world did not stop turning because Rose Red had found her happiness, and her duties to her family did not end because she had been estranged from her sister for some odd years before hand. “This is the will of the world, you are your sister’s right hand, everything she cannot be. She is meant to be judge and jury and you are her executioner. Why can’t you understand this? This is your lot in life, Rose Red, no matter how hard you try and deviate.” 

“Fuck Snow White,” Rose hisses, “and fuck you too. If you think I’m giving Snow the kingdom _now-“_

“You can’t keep it! It’s not yours, this is Snow and David’s by rights-“ 

“I’d sooner rot in hell than let her take more from me! Your magic has too many laws, _fairy,_ whatever you used to keep me on your predetermined path wore off as soon as I married the Dark One. He is part of me now, and any sway you might have planted to make me subservient to Snow rotted away. And when I have this baby-“

“You will not,” Blue says tightly, looking Rose in the eye and making her bite her tongue. Rose’s eyes widen and she draws back sharply, nearly tripping over her feet to put more space between them, her hand pressing tighter against her stomach. 

There’s a bitter, sharp, taste in her mouth, choking her. Nausea overwhelms her for a moment before a blinding, terrible pain cuts through her and she doubles over, screaming into the upholstery of the loveseat she had nearly tripped over earlier, now clutching it as if it grounds her to the earth.

“This is for your own good, Rose, and the good of the realm. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it’s too soon,” Blue whispers as she blinks back tears and disgust at herself. She’s shaking in nearly the same amount of pain as Rose. It goes against her nature, everything she knew to be true to do this, but she had to focus on the future, to know what was coming and a child — _his child_ — would make things worse. It would ruin them, and ruin Rose. 

Blue helps Rose onto the settee as her guard bursts into the room, that damn archer that seemed to shadow her everywhere, Blue purses her lips at him as he glares at her and takes Rose from her. They’re almost separated when Rose’s hand shoots out and claws at Blue’s skin, gripping her tightly. She doesn’t draw blood, fairies don’t have blood of course, but she tries valiantly. 

“I’ll kill you,” Rose hisses, breathing heavily through pain and anguish, “I’ll ruin everything you are or die trying. I don’t care what you are, you will _fear me,_ fairy.” 

* * *

 

_Storybrooke, Now_

Gold blinks awake, body wound tight and breathing quickly, he focuses on the feeling of the sheets and the heavy weight of the thousand blankets that Rose insisted on sleeping with. It helps him work through the feeling to run he had woken him up, the need to get away and _go._

Hair moves against his arm, and then his chest, and finally rests on his cheek as his wife leans over him, looking him in the eye as best she can in the dark. They’d forgotten to close the curtain in their haste to undress the other earlier, and the moonlight is brighter than normal. He can see the crease between her eyebrows. 

“What’s wrong?” She whispers, a sixth sense for these kinds of things, he’s not really surprised she’s woken up with him. He reaches up to cup her cheek, nearly surprised when his hand doesn’t pass through. 

“I had a vision,” he says hoarsely, and she hums, leaning into his hand. It had been sometime, even when they had been in the Enchanted Forest, since he had seen something. 

“Was it Baelfire?” She asks, her eyes closing, he moves his hand to her jaw and rubs his thumb over her lower lip. Smiling when she kisses it. 

“No, you.” Her eyes open again and he moves his hand down lower again, off her face to press against her stomach. “You’re pregnant.” 

Rose rolls back, looking up at the ceiling in stunned silence. She starts to cry, pushing the heels of her palm to her eyes and shaking in full body sobs. Rumple rolls over and grabs her, pulling her to his chest and hiding her face in his neck as she clings to him and shakes. 

“It’s alright, it’s going to be alright. You don’t have to-“

“No!” She says quickly, louder than she means to for the early hour and the stillness of the night. Rose pushes against him so she can look at him and make certain that he understands. “I want this! I want the baby! Please, please, don’t make me-“

“Hush, sweet girl,” he kisses her forehead, the tears on her cheeks, and the ones that cling to her lips. “Of course, of course,” he says over and over in an effort to convince himself as well as calm her down. “I won’t let her hurt you, I won’t let her near you,” he promises, clutching her to him and nursing the stirrings of an old grudge. Nothing would hurt his wife, his child, nothing would take them from him. Not again. Not while they were here, together and happy for once. And when he found Bae, when they were all together, he would work on building this grudge into something else. 

For now, he is content to hold his wife, love her, and comfort her, and dream of redemption. 


	13. “Someone grateful for her fate, someone who appreciates, the comforts of a gilded cage.”

Rosalie lurches awake quickly, bolting from the bed and nearly slamming into the counter in the bathroom, as she hurls into the (blessedly open) toilet. She lands a little too hard on her knees, that makes her wince as she wretches and her eyes water. She hardly hears Gold come up behind her until she feels a sweater around her shoulders and a tissue pushed into her hand. He moves around so much easier, it’ll take smog getting used to again.

“Emma called again,” Nick says softly, helping Rosalie’s arms through the sweater and she groans, flushing the vomit and then resting her head against the rim. 

“Dammit,” she mutters, grabbing another tissue when she has movement of her arms again. She wipes her eyes and stands slowly, drinking the water he had brought, she spits and feels a little more human.

Nick watches her as she brushes her teeth, vaguely amused. He didn’t remember much from Milah’s pregnancy, it was so long ago now, but he remembers her obstinate refusal to let him near her. Looking back that might have had less to do with the pregnancy and more to do with the…everything. 

Rosalie smiles at him as he kisses her shoulder. 

“I'm going to call Emma, and make something to settle your stomach." Rose makes a face, but doesn’t argue. 

She watches him leave the bedroom before turning back to the mirror, bringing her hands to her stomach, she moves her shirt aside to look at it unobstructed. As if that would make her more pregnant. A baby, she thinks in awe, another human. 

Dear God, a _person_ is growing inside her. Someone who will have agency, and opinions, and thoughts, and what if the baby doesn’t like them? What if the baby disagrees with what they’ve done in the past? Is it is in the past? Just very recently Rosalie and Nick acted like they had back in the Enchanted Forest, selfish and frightened, how could they raise a child when they were just as willing to lock their niece in an elevator without a second thought? 

Rosalie presses her hands against her stomach tightly, forcing herself to stop that line of thought through sheer force of will. She doesn’t have to be like that anymore, it’s not the same environment that nurtured that ruthless side of her. She doesn’t have a multitude of people to worry about, she has three (now soon four). And when they find Bae she can reevaluate this again, but right now she is not Queen Rose Red, she is Rosalie Gold and she never has to be Rose Red again if she doesn’t very well want to. And she does not want to. 

Gold is moving around the kitchen deftly for the first time, his knee only twinges slightly, and he wonders if it’s not from the diluted form of magic that he had to bring here. It’s not perfect because it was never meant to be here, so there will be some trial and error in the coming months.

“What the hell are you doing?” Emma answers the phone pleasantly.

“Cooking breakfast, should I make you some?” He says easily, and Emma pauses. 

“You left me trapped in an old-timey elevator.” 

“Desperate times, my dear. Consider this an apology breakfast.” He knows her well enough by now to know she is more likely to forget and forgive if food is involved. 

“Damn you,” Emma hisses, almost laughing and with no actual venom behind it. “We have to talk. Rosalie too.” 

“I imagined, you did call her three times already this morning.” 

“She’s home, isn’t she?” 

“Yes, just waking up.”

Emma agrees to come by in a few minutes, she’s wrapping things up with Henry and her parents. To which she hesitates to call them. Gold doesn’t deny himself the small satisfaction at all this going to hell, that even when they have what they want something will still be wanting.

It’s not satisfaction born out of malice, he does not wish for the strife among his wife’s family. But he does not deny that they deserve some part of it. It was beasts of their own making, and could easily be remedied could they see past their own self-righteousness and accept the help that he had offered. 

But pride had become a family curse it seems, and pride drove them to his doorstep. As if they could offer Emma some sort of protection and guidance. As if she had something to fear from _them._ (Yes, yes, he had left her in an elevator and asked her to fight a dragon but these were not things out of her control or power. They were very real and attainable goals. He would never ask from her more than she can give.)

“Well, I had made enough food but Rose got to it a few minutes ago.” Gold says as he stares at his nervous looking in-laws. 

“Come say it to my face old man,” Rosalie snaps from the kitchen, and her voice seems to draw Emma in. She scowls at Gold a moment, before sighing and squeezing his wrist as she moves past him toward her aunt. 

Leaving him to stare down his newly realized relations. 

“You really are married,” Mary say slowly, as if tasting it to make sure she’s saying the correct words. Gold hardly bites back his smug smile. 

“The state of Maine seems to think so.”

“If it’s just with the curse-“ David starts to say, ready to jump in as the knight in shining armor and save his sister-in-law from whatever imagined horror she is part of now. Mary looks past him at where Emma and Rose are standing in the entryway to the kitchen, watching them warily. She swallows her newfound distress at how alike they look. 

“No, no,” Gold sighs, “otherwise I imagine she would have come to find you instead of the other way around?” He smirks and rubs it in their faces that Rose had not sought out her family first. Mary closes her eyes and shoves down the seething anger at how they continue to play into her hand. Even here, she cannot let this go and just _be_ for one moment. It is always something more, why does she always want _more-_

“Snow,” Rose says, and suddenly she’s standing in front of her sister, holding her face and smiling at her. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you back home, but things were…you know.” She shrugs, and Snow sighs as she grips her sister’s wrists. 

“How long?” Rose’s smile falters slightly. 

“Ten years,” she whispers, and Snow closes her eyes again, taking Rose’s hands from her face and grimacing at her. 

“We’ll talk later. For now there are other pressing matters.” Rose looks disappointed briefly, before hiding it quickly and schooling herself into the relaxed counterpart to her husband that she had been for the last twenty-eight years. Content, with no strong desires for anything else. Peaceful, almost, she thinks. There isn’t a nagging or yearning for what else she could have or is missing. (Perhaps it is peaceful for now, but how long will that last? How long will she be content to have a normal, boring life? A nuclear family, the picture perfect American dream. Will that be enough for you, _Rose Red?)_

They are gathered in the living room, Emma eating breakfast and Rosalie hoarding the last of the hash-browns for herself. Snow and David are poised uncomfortably on the couch across from them, and Gold presides over them all in his armchair, watching in barely concealed amusement. 

“What was that purple smoke?” Emma starts them off, having held her curiosity at bay for so long as courtesy to the Gold’s and had not come in guns blazing as her instincts had told her to last night. They weren’t all dead in their sleep, so the distance had done her good. As had the breakfast. 

“I don’t recall any smoke,” Gold frowns at her and Emma mirrors it. She stares him down for a moment, before remembering that it’s usually futile. 

“The fairies say it’s magic,” David says, and watches the two warily, on edge and ready to step in if he has too. 

“Then it must have been,” Gold shrugs, Rosalie pursing her lips together to stare sourly at the coffee table between them. “I can’t imagine they would have a reason to lie to you about it.” Rosalie huffs and smirks slightly. She has a strong desire to go to her husband at the reminder of the fairies, that they still lingered and hovered around her sister like a moth to the flame. 

_Safety,_ she thinks, he’s safest in this situation and the pull is almost too much to bear. She isn’t just protecting herself anymore. 

“If magic is here then you and Regina…” Snow looks at him warily and Gold rolls his eyes.

“Do something magical,” Emma echoes her son’s sentiment to the fairies from earlier, smirking at Gold and how put-upon he looks at her. He is not a _pet-_

“You brought it here, didn’t you?” David accuses, and Rosalie makes a sound from the back of her throat, sitting up straighter and scowling at him. It’s not a wild leap, but they weren’t going to own up to it. And rude to accuse them of besides. 

“Perhaps, not that it seems to have had any ill-intentioned effects. If Regina did in fact have her magic back you two certainly wouldn’t be here would you?” He looks at them curiously, as if expecting them to own up to the fact that they aren’t here. David and Snow look at each other, frowning tightly and speaking without speaking. An annoying trait that comes easily between two burdened with True Love. 

“We know about Regina, she’s locked up,” Emma says simply, “there was an altercation last night. While you two were MIA.” 

“In _jail?”_ Rosalie laughs, looking excited and entirely too amused for the situation. It was one thing to lock Regina away in the Summer Palace, it was another entirely to have her in a jail cell while still acting Mayor.

“We haven’t been able to get anywhere with her, do you know why we weren’t taken back home?” David scowls at Rosalie. 

“I can’t say for certain, it’s not my curse after all. My best guess would be that she didn’t have a backup plan. Live or die by the sword.” Gold shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Will you talk to her?” Snow looks at Rose, who has managed to curb her laughter to merely smiling. Though it falls almost immediately when Snow asks. Rose bites her lip to keep from sneering, her hands gripping each other tightly, and looking at Snow intensely. She doesn’t waver, of course, Snow White is not afraid of many things, least of all her sister. 

Both suddenly feel as if they are back in their father’s study at the palace, Snow attempting to get Rose to submit and Rose throwing an-honest-to-God fit about having to give up something to her sister. Rose remembers the chill in her heart as she realizes what Snow is angling for. And Snow remembers the all consuming rage that had taken hold of Rose at that same moment. 

This is different, they force themselves to remember, they are not there. Snow is not asking her to give up her home and Rose is not going to attempt to run her through with her letter opener for requesting this of her. 

“No,” Rose says all the same, “no, I have nothing to say to her.” She laces her hands over her stomach, almost protective, almost on purpose. Emma watches her with the stirrings of dread. 

“We can’t keep her in a cell forever, and if we’re stuck here then we have to decide how to deal with it. If there’s a chance she can be redeemed-“ Snow cuts herself off when she sees Rose open her mouth, the split-second of rage on her face enough to worry her. But Rose stops herself, manages to stall it and reign it back in. She breathes out through her nose slowly, and presses her hands against her stomach tighter. 

“You tried before, Snow,” Rose reminds her, trying her damnedest to keep from shouting. “This is where it got us. There are no other options.” 

“There are always other options,” Snow says and damns her sister. 

Always other options? There weren’t when Rose was killing people in _her_ name. There weren’t other options when they had to cull the council members that Regina had kept and those that she had raised among the ranks (clay soldiers were good for fodder, but not for leading armies or strategizing). 

No, there are only other options when it suits Snow White. 

“Okay, we don’t need to discuss the pros and cons of the death penalty,” Emma cuts in, looking sharply between them. She has decided she loves Rose recently (pushed along by their new found relation and nurtured by the friendship from earlier) but she is not super into how trigger happy she can be. “For now we all work under the assumption that we live here, and this is it. Which isn’t so bad right? Modern medicine, wifi, Netflix,” Emma shrugs, unwilling and unable to imagine life without these things. “And regardless of what we think of Regina, she’s still Henry’s mother.” 

Rose looks at Emma curiously, her head tilts slightly, and Emma fidgets under her stare, unrelenting as it is. She narrows her eyes as she stares back at Rose, cataloguing the way her thumb rubs against her stomach as she begins building evidence for her theory. Her theory that makes her skin itch and her hands fidget even worse. 

“I thought you’re his mother,” she says slowly, almost with the intent to upset and drive a rift between them further than is already present. 

Emma hisses softly and stands, glaring at Rose, unabashed and holding Emma’s gaze still. She doesn’t look like she particularly cares how her words effect people. And it is whiplash after having so trusted Rosalie and so admired her. This is not the same woman in this moment, and Emma doesn’t know how to reconcile the differences. 

“I don’t care if you don’t help us, but I won’t let you make things worse either.” Emma snaps, though Rose only smiles at her. 

Her family leaves without getting what they want, and they let them. Rose had missed them, yes, is beside herself at having Emma around. But she cannot help them with what they want. She cannot sacrifice more of herself for her sister’s happiness. Not when she has so much more to worry about now. 

Gold sighs, moves from his arm chair to the couch next to Rose and pulls her into his lap. Rose pushes her face into his neck and mirrors his sigh as well. He holds her hand over her stomach, curling his fingers around her, he resists the temptation to probe with magic and see how things are progressing. He’ll be damned if he lets Whale near his wife, and with such limited options they’ll have to set up a physician in Portland before they leave for New York. (It hadn’t been that hard really, to pinpoint his blood. Bae is a part of him whether he likes it or not, and they will always be drawn to each other. It goes both way though, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Bae knows when he gets closer.) 

“We should pack,” Rose says softly, struggling to pull herself away from the comfort her husband provided. He hums, kissing her head slowly as he lets her stand and then follows. 

“We should bring Emma with us,” he says as if it's an afterthought, but Rose knows him too well to fall for that. She looks at him as they stand across from each other in the bedroom, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement. 

“Oh?” She asks casually, turning back to her clothing with little pageantry. 

“She's good at finding people,” he defends halfheartedly, and scowls weakly at Rose. 

“And you don’t want to leave her alone with them here.” Rose fills in the blanks, forcing him to confront his reasonings. Gold sighs and looks put upon. 

“More I don’t want to leave them alone with her. You know the moment we leave they will swarm and corrupt her against us.” He looks Rose in the eye, and she feels her gut twist unpleasantly at that idea. “She could be so much more-“

“She doesn’t know who she is right now,” Rose stops him, “she needs time and taking her away from the family she just found won’t accomplish that.”

“We’re her family too,” he insists, and Rose smiles lovingly at him. She walks over to him and cups his face in her hands, kissing him softly. 

“And it’s for that reason I’m not worried about her. She’ll be damned if they tell her what to think, you know that.” Gold huffs, trying to convince himself of this. But how could he be certain if he wasn’t there to ensure it? Emma is his as much as she is Rose’s and he wants to keep his things close and safe and protected. “We can’t uproot her, Nick, not right now.” 

“Alright,” he concedes. But Rose isn’t an idiot, and she isn’t new at this, she knows he’s only given in so easily because he plans on keeping an eye on her anyway. It’s little things, she reminds herself, this is a big step for him. And maybe in the future she can meet him halfway, when they have Bae and the baby, they can revisit the talk of taking Emma and Henry away from here (because Rose would be damned if they leave him here with just Snow, David, and Regina to raise). 

For now, they focus on just getting to Bae, and the rest will come. 

—

_Enchanted Forest, nineteen years before the curse_

Cora would freely admit that the girls are beautiful. The otherworldly, almost ethereal quality to them that cannot come from any natural source, surely. Though she knew Snow White to be Leopold and Eva’s daughter (she should be _Cora’s,_ all of it should be her’s, not that manipulative, narcissistic- but that’s past now, Cora reminds herself, Eva is dead and buried and no magic can bring her back), Rose Red is clearly _not_ their child. Though it would have been something, Cora muses, for Leopold to bring a bastard into the marriage, she knows that’s not true. It’s clear enough in the way the girl holds herself and looks them all in the eye upon meeting. No child of Eva or Leopold’s would be so discerning with strangers. 

They would be like Snow White, who is maddening in her naiveté. 

Rose is the younger, Cora knows, hardly a year between them however (another clue to her baseborn status, she wonders briefly who’s child she really is, and how she had had such good fortune thrust upon her). Snow White is quick to take on the role of older sister and explain to her in excruciating detail all that has happened in the half day they’ve been parted. Rose looks at the family as she half listens to her sister, surely a tale she will tell on repeat to any available ears for the coming months. 

Leopold steps between the girls, kissing Rose’s head in greeting and smiling at her gently. Rose grips his arm and whispers quietly to him, Cora bristles as she reads the girls lips. Insinuating that her daughter would even- She had raised Regina carefully so as not to implicate her into this exact kind of thing! 

“Princess,” Cora interrupts, walking forward and smiling pleasantly, curtseying and receiving one in turn, “how relieved your father and sister are to have you here, they’ve hardly spoken of anything else.” Rose blushes softly, and frowns at her relations. 

“I hope they haven’t been vexing, my lady, they can get carried away I’m afraid.” She’s aware then, Cora thinks, of how enamored they are with her. Now that Eva is dead, she can imagine Leopold has been particularly overbearing with the girls. 

“This is Lady Cora, Rose,” Leopold steps in to introduce them, “her husband Lord Henry, and their daughter, Regina.” Rose curtseys to them all, eyes lingering on Regina, sweeping over her intensely. Regina fidgets bestie her father, smiling sweetly and without any of the bite that Cora had tried to instill in her. It didn’t come naturally to her, and she wonders if this daughter won’t try to eat her alive. 

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Regina, I hope you look kindly to Snow and I in the future.” Rose smiles now, bright, and lovely, and blinding. Cora sees the anger behind it, the strain Rose has to force on herself to stay civil, though it’s very well hidden. No one else would have noticed, she thinks, perhaps not even Rose herself. 

They are slated to stay at the villa for the time it takes their father to make a hasty courtship and defend his quick proposal to Regina without speaking to either his children or his council about it. It was foolhardy and likely to get them all in trouble, Rose thinks bitterly. She had spent the entire ride to the villa stewing on it and nurturing her annoyance into something more festering than the slight upset it should be. It was no great deal to _her_ what her father hoped to do, she knew her place. And bringing a woman not much older than her or her sister was not going to change that. 

Rose had known all her life practically, what she was destined to be: The wife of some minor lord that her parents could send her to live with and never look back at her. She would bear him children, run his estate behind his back, and God-willing, become a widow young enough to make another marriage she had more say in. Perhaps after she widowed she would convince Gilbert to take her away somewhere else and make a new life, without any ties to royalty or nobles. 

“Oh, isn’t it exciting!” Snow gushes loudly, throwing herself onto the bed in the room they’re to share while here. It’s better than a tent, Rose thinks bitterly, but she’d prefer not to share at all. “A wedding! It must have been love at first sight, don’t you think? It’s the stuff of fairytales!” Rose makes a noncommittal sound that her sister overlooks to continue speaking about the wedding. 

Rose walks around the room while ignoring her sister, looking at the baubles and decor that seem stuffed on every available space. She purses her lips together and holds a spyglass to the window, the jewel encrusted handle making it more ostentatious than necessary. A gift, then, shoved in here to be forgotten about. Rose rolls her eyes and sets it back down, movement out the window catching her eye as she looks back up. 

“How did the horse get away from you, Snow?” Rose asks, cutting her sister off. Snow frowns at her for a moment as she registers the question and tries to think of a suitable answer. 

“I don’t know, something spooked her I think. She wouldn’t listen to me at all.” Rose smiles softly at her. 

“Then it’s a good thing Regina was there to save you,” she assuages her sister’s worries that this was somehow her fault, stirring in her eyes but still small enough not to have been voiced. Rose could see it as easily as she could see Regina walking across the yard toward the stables right now, her uncanny ability to read Snow White has saved her parents much guessing and grief over the years. “And you know she was right, you mustn’t let something like this hold you back. If we cannot overcome our fears how can we expect people to listen or respect us as royals?” Rose muses, watching Snow get that look. That single-mindedness that could overtake her on occasion. Snow stands up from the bed quickly. 

“And there’s no time like the present is there!” She says with authority, as much an attempt to convince herself as Rose. “It’s still a few hours before dark, would you come with me?” 

“No, I traveled today. I’ve had enough of horse back riding.” Rose makes an excuse for herself, not wanting to be witness to anymore of the hero-worship that Snow would thrust upon Regina until another passing fancy came to take her attention. 

Snow kisses her cheek as she leaves. Rose hesitates by the window, waiting and watching as Snow travels toward the stables, unintentionally mirroring Regina’s path. 

“Gilbert,” Rose says, knowing the man is lingering outside the door to keep up appearances while in someone else’s house. Normally he would be in the room with her, but he is not a relation and a guard besides. She can tell that Cora would be the kind of person to take issue with this. 

Gilbert walks into the room and closes the door before she can ask, stepping beside her and waiting silently. Rose takes her time, relaxing just at having him close to her again. She can’t shake the feeling since she’s stepped foot here, but she doesn’t feel safe. For herself or her family. 

“I want someone with Snow, even if she doesn’t know.” Rose says softly. “And speak to father’s guards.” 

“What should they be looking for?” He sets his hand on her back gently, Rose leans into him, frowning tightly as she watches Snow run from the stables and Regina follow soon after. 

“I don’t know, but my gut tells me we should not be here for longer than is necessary.” Gilbert strokes her back, a more fatherly figure than her own father Rose would be lost without him. He doesn’t need a reason, just needs to know she’s frightened and he takes care of the rest. 

When Snow comes back to the room Gilbert is long gone, while Rose’s anticipation has been growing. She watches her sister steal into the room and then startle when she sees Rose watching her. It’s dark, but not nearly late enough to be asleep, and she wonders just what Snow has on her mind not to have noticed this. 

“What are you still doing up?” Snow asks.

“It’s hardly passed sunset,” Rose frowns, watching her move around the room carefully. Snow hums and nods, seeming to have not realized this. 

“Well, I’m going to go to bed, it’s been a long day-“

“What happened?” Rose cuts her off, scowling deeply. Snow pauses, and looks at her wide eyed, a clear indication of her hiding something. 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says slowly, as if trying to convince herself. Rose looks at her dryly, the two of them staring at each other for an uncomfortable length of time. Snow fidgets as she looks around the room, and anywhere but at Rose, who has yet to blink. Does she usually do that? Snow wonders, trying to recall the last time her sister had stared her down like this. Saints above, has she _ever_ blinked? Snow can’t recall her sister ever blinking before. That’s preposterous, Snow scolds herself, of course she’s blinked before she’s a human and humans have to blink. Right? 

“Well, goodnight!” She says hastily, nearly diving under the covers of the bed and pulling them over her head so as not to suffer her sister staring holes into her. 

Rose hums and blows out the candles. 

Rose doesn’t sleep. She’s unsurprised by this. The bed is comfy, the room is secure, she knows that Gilbert is asleep on a chair in the room with them. (This precaution is overlooked for proprieties sake because of the habit her father is aware the two have struck up at home. Gilbert almost always sleeps on the chaise in Rose’s rooms with her at the palace, and Eva had assuaged Leopold’s upset at the man’s presumption over his daughter by reminding him that no one else would be so well protected than Rose. And Rose had refused to hear otherwise, insistent on his company.) Still she cannot sleep. 

She cannot sleep the next night either. Nor the night after that. She dozes during the day, making a fool of herself and a bad impression she’s sure, but she’s too exhausted to truly care what they think of her. It would hardly effect her life anyhow, should this family think poorly of her. Henry takes pity on her, and often provides her with quick escapes or covers for her when she is found sleeping in the library, or disappears during the day. He is the one bright spot among them, she thinks, the only one that doesn’t make her stomach churn. 

“Gil,” she whispers, on the third night, shaking him awake and startling him. He scowls at her and rubs a hand down his face as she watches in amusement. 

“What’s matter?” He mutters, pinching his nose and thanking the lords he hadn’t run her through like his first instinct. Rose holds her hand out but he snorts and stands on his own, setting a hand on her head. “Aye,” he yawns, “a walk in the moonlight, why wouldn’t we when we could be sleeping?” He grumbles, but she knows he doesn’t mean anything by it. He dotes on her, and allows her anything. Rose laces their arms together while they walk from the room. 

Gilbert kicks the guard asleep outside the door, ordering him back to his tent and to send his replacement up. Rose chews her lip nervously, but shoves her own worries aside for the time being. 

“Thank you,” Rose whispers, their footsteps light enough they do not disturb the silence of the home, it only adds to the uneasy feeling. “I know I’ve been troublesome.” 

“Troublesome is your father keeping us here indefinitely. You are a sleep deprived child, one I know how to handle, luckily.” He reassures her, and she sighs, swaying a little into his side and taking comfort in his presence. 

They don’t speak much more, simply walk in slow circles around the home until Rose tires herself out as she always does. It’s become another routine, and he worries for how this will effect her. Gilbert wonders if he would be able to talk the king and Rose into leaving a day before the rest of them so that she might catch up on sleep without everything around her disturbing her. It’s overstepping bounds, but he hopes her father cares enough for her wellbeing to overlook that. 

Rose feels Cora before she hears the woman, there’s a constricting in her chest and a panic that sends her reeling before she remembers why. Rose pushes Gilbert into a shadowed alcove, not wanting to suffer the woman’s displeasure more than she has to at this time of night and for some reason Gilbert makes her antsy. 

Though she has her hands full half dragging Regina down the hallway and scolding her quietly. Cora startles when she sees Rose, who looks at them curiously and takes in the situation as well as she’s able in the darkness. 

“Saints, child, you startled me,” Cora snaps, but Rose doesn’t look away from Regina. She’s hunched in a way that Rose has never seen, as if attempting to make herself smaller, or disappear entirely. 

“Is everything alright?” She asks. Regina looks at her now, and the redness of her eyes is not lost even in the dark. Nor the sob that she only half stops, which ends up being a terrible choking sound instead. The unpleasant feeling Rose has increases tenfold. 

“Yes, of course, we lost track of time planning the wedding.” Cora waves away her concerns, pulling Regina again and forcing a smile at Rose. Her lips curl over her teeth in a display that is neither reassuring nor comforting, and instead sends a sharp jolt of fear through Rose. “It’s the middle of the night, sweetheart, you should be asleep.” 

“I’m hoping exhaustion will set in,” Rose says slowly, watching Regina. She can’t tear her eyes away from her, and feels compelled to go to her, to comfort and hold. She reaches for Regina as Cora tries to lead her past, and Regina drags her fingers over Rose’s arm, squeezing her wrist tightly before letting go. “Are you sure everything is alright?” She asks a little louder, Cora does not stop, simply throwing another affirmative over her shoulder as they disappear back down the hallway. 

Rose stands there watching where they had gone, until Gilbert is standing beside her again. She turns to him and hides her face in his chest, her heart beating erratically, and nausea curling up her throat to choke her. She takes a few deep breaths, but he ends up carrying her back to her room anyway. 

He falls asleep sitting against her bed holding her hand, and Rose sleeps a few fitful hours where she dreams of a woman with sharp teeth. 

She seeks her father out first thing in the morning, bypassing breakfast and Snow and dressing quickly. He receives her in his own rooms, a makeshift study set up so that he may at least pretend at getting work done. Rose’s eyes skim over the handful of letters scattered across the desk and picks out the seals she knows from people she did not want to see writing her father. 

“Did you sleep at all, love?” He asks softly, enveloping her into his side and kissing her head. He was never shy with affection at least, she thinks, and wraps her arms around him. 

“Father, you cannot marry her,” she says urgently, desperate to get him to understand. 

“What’s all this about?” He frowns, stroking her cheek and coaxing her into looking at him instead of hiding her face in his stomach. “Regina is a good woman-“

“You don’t know her! None of us do! Father, please, do not bring a stranger into our _home.”_ She pleads, gripping his shirt tightly, Leopold sets his hands on her shoulders and pulls her away gently. “I know you are lonely, and grateful to her for saving Snow, but surely there is another way to repay her.”

“It is over your head, Rose,” he says sadly, “when you’re older things cannot be done so easily when settling debts.” 

“No! I don’t care what it is, _please_ don’t marry her, Father. Or if you must at least bring her back to the castle with us to draw out a proper courtship and go through the proper channels with the council-“

“You overstep, Rose Red,” Leopold says sharply, scowling at her. Rose bites her tongue in surprise, she takes a nervous step backwards, taking her hands back from him when he starts to grip too tightly. “I will marry who I choose, when I choose. I am king, and your father besides.”Rose purses her lips together in an attempt to keep from crying. Of the sisters she was the one most often scolded, but that doesn’t make it any easier. “Rose,” he sighs, looking at her sadly, “I’m sorry, I know this is hard, but it will be for the best, you’ll see.”

“I want to go home,” she says, looking away from him and focusing instead on the window, looking at the land that sprawled around the home. An old royal family, she remembers hearing, Henry was the third son or something to that effect. 

“We will soon-“

“No, I want to leave today. I am not needed here. I can go home and make sure everything is ready for you. Please Father,” she looks at him, not bothering to hide her desperation or misery, “I can’t sleep, I’m on edge, I don’t feel safe here.” 

Leopold sighs, he gathers her in his arms and kisses her head, he holds her and prays that some of his strength translates. He knows this is unorthodox, knows that it will take some getting used to for the girls. He’d been pleased at how well Snow took to Regina, but knows it won’t be the same for Rose, she is more her mother’s daughter than his, and shares her suspicious nature. It will take time, but he’s confident that Rose will come around. 

Rose Red leaves the villa within the hour. She rides next to Gilbert, and is surrounded by a small host befitting her status. Rose hardly makes it outside the property line before she starts to doze, able to relax finally. Gilbert rides close to her, and another guard takes the reins of her horse. He lifts her easily, and settles her in front of him, she clutches his cloak and sighs deeply. 

“He’ll never listen to me,” she whispers. Gilbert sets his hand on the back of her head, cradling her to him and hurting for her. 

“Through no fault of your own, it is how he is. You know he will never put you in harms way willingly.” 

“I know, that’s the part that worries me.” 

Gilbert hums in acknowledgement, strokes her hair to help lull her to sleep. Rose is out in seconds, and he swears in that moment he would do whatever is in his power to keep her safe. 

—

_Storybrooke, Present_

“Are you sure?” Arthur White looks at Rosalie skeptically over the coffee at Granny’s. 

“Sure that I want to raise a child somewhere outside this weird cult like town? Yeah, Gil, pretty sure,” Rose scoffs. “Pretty sure that I can get you a house wherever we settle as well. Somewhere on the coast, small, but with modern amenities so you can have your little fish shop.” 

“Bait shop.”

“Same thing.” Rose reaches across the table to grab his hand, she looks him in the eye with the steely determination that she had grown into later in life. The kind of look that says she would respect his wishes, but not without a fight. “I need you with me, Gil. I can’t trust Nick like I can you. And I want you to be happy, there are more-” Rose snorts, “there are more fish in the sea-“

“If you ever say that to me again I’m going to tell Regina where you’re going.” Rose draws back and looks offended, her hand on her chest and taking a drink of her coffee pointedly. “And you needn’t try so hard, Rosie, you know I will go wherever you ask.” 

Rose feels her heart in her throat, she looks at Gilbert and thinks of Robin, left in whatever hellscape the Enchanted Forest is now. She owed these two men her life, and she could only repay one of them. It would nag at her for the rest of her life, not knowing what happened with Robin, or Roland, or any of the other Merry Men. 

But she has to shove that aside for now. There’s nothing to be done. 

“First things first, and let’s see how you do taking care of the house.” 

It’s an hour and a half drive to Portland, and then another quick hour and a half to New York. By all accounts, the drive would be the easy part, were they those kind of people. Luck never seemed to be on their side for little of anything, why would it start now? 

They had left early, the fog from the ocean blanketing the road and masking their flight from the town. It was early enough that no one besides from Gilbert would know. Since the curse had lifted things had been in an influx. They had lived by routine for so long, that the residents were trying to find their stride again. No one knew whether or not they should actually resume their lives, or wait until they would go home again. Whether they would go home again. And in this limbo, times stand still once more. 

Rosalie often has to remind herself, while driving this large fuck off Range Rover, that she cannot just barrel through things with it. That while the world would probably not miss someone like Albert Spencer, and that it would be quicker if she could drive _through_ the dry cleaners, that wasn’t the way things were done and so Rosalie had to show an exercise of self restraint every time she drove. 

This is one of those times. 

“Stop the car,” Gold says suddenly. 

“What are you talking about?” Rosalie snaps at him, most assuredly not stopping the car. 

“Something’s _wrong,_ stop the car.” He says firmly, and Rose doesn’t slam the breaks because she doesn’t hate herself or the car, and they crawl to an anticlimactic stop in front of the “Leaving Storybrooke” sign, and then stare at it. Gold doesn’t offer up right away what had spooked him, and so Rosalie taps her hands against the steering wheel as she waits. And waits. He looks like he’s in a meditative state almost, a look he only has when he doesn’t have the answer he wants. 

“Fogs letting up,” she observes, and he huffs. 

“It feels like the curse. The same oppressive feeling that had been over the town. There’s still magic here.” 

“Well I should hope so-“ 

“Not _our_ magic. Something’s lingering.” Rosalie groans at him and rests her head on the steering wheel, tapping her forehead to it lightly a few times. 

“Something bad?” She asks the floor. Gold purses his lips together, not letting up his staring contest with the road. She looks up and stares with him, the road looks normal but knowing magic, and knowing Regina, it could be any number of things meant to hurt them.

“I don’t know,” he bites out, and Rosalie grips the steering wheel tightly, then throws the car in park.

“One way to find out!” She decides, jumping out of the car. 

“What are you-Rosa-Rose!” He snaps, moving quickly after her. Rose stops to grabs a stick from the side of the road and then hurls it as hard as she can in front of her, waiting for smoothing to happen but nothing does. It lands with a soft _thwack_ and nothing else. 

“Well now we know it won’t kill us,” she says helpfully, “but that leaves all manner of other terrible things.” 

“Anything else you want to throw while we’re at it?” Gold drawls from beside her, looking unamused. Rosalie smiles widely at him. 

“No, but if you could knock a tree down into the road that’d be great. Something small.” 

Rose had run this con a thousand times with the Merry Men, she’d heard that Snow had adapted it as well. It was tired and true, but they weren’t trying to rob people here. So things needed to be tweaked a little to get results. 

Rosalie calls in to get city maintenance out to remove the tree. It’s one of the dwarves she thinks, she never took much interest in them to keep them straight or remember what they look like. But she’s still Snow White’s sister, and regardless of her short temper or husband looming in the background, they act genial and friendly. She half wonders if she dragged them away from something or other now that the curse is broken. 

“I have a meeting to go to in Portland about Henry’s case,” she says politely when asked about the drive, “and it’s already such a long drive.”

“You’re still working?” He asks, there’s the subtle implication behind the words that makes it meaner than he probably intends. Rosalie bites her lip to keep from sneering at him. 

“Just because the curse breaks doesn’t mean my job stops.” She shrugs, her smile hasn’t dropped since he appeared and she probably looks deranged. She certainly feels it, good lord, is she going to have to do this all the time now? They definitely need to move. 

“Most people want to spend it with their families.” 

“Ah, well, I’ve already spoken to my sister. She wants to spend as much time with Emma as she can, and I thought it best to give them some space.” This seems to make sense, and now placated the dwarf turns his back on her to get to work. 

After Gold had magicked the tree down he had decided to stand off to the side watching with barely concealed disdain, and let Rosalie take the reins. Rosalie walks back over to him, holding onto his arm in the guise of helping support him, while surreptitiously taking her shoes off (she had not anticipated having to run and so worn boots that didn’t fit quite right, but were damn comfortable, not something she would choose to run in). Gold looks down at her when she suddenly loses a few inches, and then does a quick double take at the fact that she is taking her shoes off. 

“What are you doing?” He hisses at her quietly, Rose rolls her eyes. 

“He’s gotta get over the town line somehow,” she whisper-hisses back. 

“You- Rose, you’re pregnant.” Gold grips her arms tightly, looking alarmed at her. But this is too in character for her, he can’t be that surprised she would just go straight to assault to get what she wants. 

“Well dammit, when was the last time you body slammed someone with your stomach?” She throws her hand up, and Gold catches it easily, looking over at the dwarf and sneering. “Unless you have a better plan?” Rose snaps, looking at him pointedly. And while he would love to see his wife physically assault someone, she is pregnant now and they’re going to have to make concessions on some things. 

Gold waves his hand, allowing Rose the moment to put her shoes back on, and the dwarf goes careening over the tree. They walk calmly toward him, it wasn’t a hard throw, he wouldn’t be hurt by it, but it got the job done. He shoots back up, ready to start yelling he makes an angry sound but then snaps his mouth shut. He blinks wildly as he looks at them, then around him, as the confusion settles in.

“What-What, uh, are we doing out here?” He asks slowly, speaking as if his tongue is too big for his mouth or coated in a terrible taste. 

“What’s your name?” Rosalie asks carefully. It’s not very helpful since she doesn’t know his name, but if he doesn’t give them an adjective it would be a pretty big red flag. She prays quietly that it is not a memory thing. 

“M-Michael-Okay, what’s going on?” He demands, glaring at them. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Rosalie ignores him. Gold is outright glaring, his jaw clenched and hands holding his cane tightly, almost as if he’s trying to break the damn thing in half. 

“I was having a drink with Tom at Granny’s. _What_ is going on?” He asks again, and again receives no answer. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Rosalie sighs. 

Gold waves his hand again, and sends the man back to town. Rosalie frowns, she stares a moment longer at where Michael had been before looking back at her husband. Her stomach clenches unpleasantly at the look on his face. With only the two of them and the forest as witnesses, he can take a moment to truly feel and express it. An anguish she has only seen a handful of times before. Rose moves closer, sets her hands on his cheeks to hold his face and look at him. She presses her lips to his neck, whispering softly, trying to comfort and be a stabilizing force. He reaches for her, and digs his fingers into her back, crushing her against him, he sobs with his whole body, forcing Rose to take the brunt of his weight, luckily something she is used to after all these years. 

So _close,_ they were so close! It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t right! He had worked hard, worked _desperately_ to find Bae, and it still wasn’t enough. Why wasn’t it ever enough? He had done what he could when he could, he had slaved away for these people to give them what they wanted but _he_ couldn’t catch a break? The world aligned itself without having to be asked for the likes of Regina and the Blue Fairy, who had been just as maligned if not more so than himself. And now the _one thing_ he had wanted, and strived for was still kept out of his grasp? _Why?_

Gold lets out an agonized sob, the only sound for miles in their little stretch of road, it feels louder than it must be. But the tree behind them cracks in half, and Rosalie begins to feel nervous. She closes her eyes tightly, and moves her hands to his back as well, she digs her nails into his back through his jacket, forcing him to stay grounded and remember that he is real, and so is she. 

“It doesn’t end here, baby,” she says into his ear, speaks as calmly as she can through her own turmoil. She will be _damned_ if everything they have sacrificed, everything they have worked for, is derailed by Regina’s _pettiness._

It takes some coaxing but Rosalie gets Gold back into the car. He’ll be manic these next few days as he comes to terms with this and starts working on something to get around it. It’ll be hard, but Rosalie has to let it run its course and be as much of a pillar as she can be. 

_If I can be,_ Rosalie thinks, placing a hand on her stomach, she worries for what feels like the first time, how Rumplestiltskin’s mood can effect the people around him. And what this means for the oncoming storm. 


End file.
